Raven

This is the tumblr page for all things related to this event.

This will include (but is not limited to) the rules, how and where to sign up, along with the master list for all the wonderful fics created through this event.

In this event, you’ll be gifting works of smut to fellow smut authors. The way it works is while signing up through the form (which will be posted closer to the event date, but will be linked to here) you’ll have a section of the form which will be just for you to give your prompts! You'll be able to submit three prompts for others in the event to then choose from and write for you!

Whether you write down an incredibly detailed, descriptive, and specific prompt, or something just as simple as a ship and a single kink is completely up to you! Then, other participants will choose from the prompts submitted, and write it for you!

And, for those who are worried about a certain kink that you just don’t like popping up in your gifted fic, you can specify things you really just don’t want in your fic in the form. (There’ll be a question just for this!)

After signing up and providing your prompts, you'll then be directed to a spreadsheet where you'll see everyone's prompts. Here, you can pick one you want to write! You can only claim one prompt at a time, but after finishing and publishing your smutshot you'll be allowed to claim another. This will hopefully guarantee everyone gets a fair chance to write something they're comfortable with.

Event date

This event will run from January 1st, to March 31st. Signup’s/Prompt submissions will start in December!

Form

When signup’s have started, you’ll be able to find the form here, which will include a link to the discord server for you to join at the completion of your signup.

We can’t wait for you to join the write fight!

Now, Janus lives in a pretty shady area. 

High crime and a plethora of gangs kept the market prices low, and the property taxes lower, so Janus weighed his options and decided this was the only place he could afford. So long as he kept working two jobs, he could pay the mortgage! And then he lost one of those jobs. Apparently “returning the energy” with customers actually qualified as “poor customer service” and “catching an attitude.” 

With this loss of income, Janus fell very far behind on payments. He put forth what he could, sacrificing heat, food, and oftentime sleep in order to get as many hours in as possible at his remaining job, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. 

And so, he had dragged his feet to the closest gang in his area. The chances of death were just as probable as mercy, but Janus just needed a bit of money. He’d pay it back with interest, and he must have seemed desperate enough, because eventually he was able to pay off the bank for the time being, temporarily relieving him of some stress. 

And for a while, things were easy. Two guys would show up at his house every other week, and Janus would give them an allotted amount of money. Sure, it still left him freezing and occasionally starving, but that was better than dying. 

But then he lost his current job. 

His search for a new second job soon became a scramble for a job at all. Something to keep his house safe and the gang happy. But apparently employers don’t love the look of only staying at a workplace for a couple months, and his typical excuse of leaving the company (instead of admitting he was fired) makes him look all the more flippant. 

So when two of the gang members came for payment a few weeks later, Janus could only try and hide, but they obviously had no qualms regarding breaking in and finding him. 

Seemingly, they’d come prepared with materials Janus had missed every other week, as if they were always anticipating Janus not being able to pay and so always had the materials to punish him if that scenario ever came to fruition. 

So now Janus can only kick, and kick, and kick some more, hoping any of his blind movements land just right and allow him at least a few seconds of freedom. Any sort of release from their tense grips would give him at least the slimmest of chances to escape, even if he knew the odds were weighed against him. 

He hears a grunt as the sole of his shoe slams against something solid, and a louder curse as he hits that area again. The hands around his arms shake him as the guy behind him yells at him, but that shake at least gets him vertical again. And Janus’s feet brushing against the ground is all that he needs to attempt to enact his escape. 

He kicks his foot as far forward as he can to give himself leverage, and then drives it back, straight into where he estimates his captor’s shin will be. 

 The reaction is immediate. 

Janus is released as the man shouts, and Janus immediately takes off, ripping the sack from his head and throwing it to the ground as he sprints towards his backdoor (which he scrambles to find in his disorienting haste). He fumbles with the knob for a few seconds before throwing it open and running outside. 

He knows he’s being chased; he can hear heavy footsteps behind him followed by yelling, and Janus is sure that if the gang leader didn’t want to kill him himself, Janus would be being shot at too. 

His backyard has no fence, but the lot his is connected to does, and so Janus hops it in hope that it might put a little distance between him and his assailants. He jumps over the front fence too, and then just keeps running. Until his legs are aching. Until his lungs burn. Until his mouth is filled with hot spit that pools in his cheeks and feels heavy swallowing down. 

Running down sidewalks and through alleys is fruitless, though, as he never loses the two behind him. And he’s much less athletic than they are, as he knows collapsing is inevitable. 

And then - just up ahead - he sees people. 

One of them towers above the other two - a blonde, with his back turned. He looks like he’s in a Hawaiian shirt, and khaki shorts, despite the fact there’s a noticeable chill outside. The two guys next to him are dressed in warmer clothes, and seemingly notice Janus, as one of them shouts and the other points, which has the main blonde turning around right as Janus throws himself at his sandaled feet. 

“Please,” Janus begs, between pants. The word is foreign on his tongue, and he’s not even sure if he actually says it aloud. “Help.”

“Hey!” one of the assailants shout, “back away from him! We have direct orders to bring him to our boss.” 

“Yeah. Bitch owes us money.” 

“Lots of money.” 

Janus shrinks against the concrete, staring up at the blonde pleadingly. He can’t read the tall man’s eyes, as the sun reflects against his glasses in a bright glare, obscuring his intentions. 

“Are you cops?” he eventually asks, and even Janus himself is a bit baffled at the question. The man’s accent is thick and southern; he honestly doesn’t sound like he’s from the area, but his tone is so direct and confident that Janus is sure he is. 

The two gang members scoff. “Do we look like fuckin’ cops?” 

“No. I suppose you don’t.” The man sets his hand on his hip, where Janus sees he has a gun holstered. He doesn’t pull it out, but he does show it off, as if threatening to do so at any moment. “How much money does he owe you?” 

“Enough to pay off a couple months’ mortgage,” one of the members answers. “That’s what he needed a loan for. To save his house. Yet he couldn’t be bothered to pay back enough to save his life.” 

The blonde glances back at Janus, who scoots a bit away. “I tried,” he insists, feeling the need to justify himself. He’s placed in a situation where he’s quite literally begging for his life, and he’d rather not give this man any reason to fork him over. “I was trying to find a second job after I lost it, and then I lost my current one. I’ve been applying nonstop for more, but-” 

His mouth feels dry. It’s not often Janus is out of things to say, but here, there’s really nothing he can say. At least, not to the two men hellbent on his death. And so, he turns to pleading with the bigger guy whomst he’s hiding behind. 

“I’ll do anything,” he says, his voice hushed. “Wherever you live, whatever you do, I’ll be useful somehow. I’ve got a lot of uses. I’ll clean, or cook, or whatever, so long as you don’t make me go with them.” 

Though the man looks awfully intimidating, Janus can see him soften behind his round glasses. And really, he doesn’t look that threatening at all. In fact, he looks almost innocent; way too gentle to be carrying around a gun, or backed up by two men who look willing to throw down with Janus’s assailants. 

The tall man turns back to the two thugs. “Sorry, boys, but I don’t think we’ll be handin’ him over.” 

One of the gang members grabs their gun, and Janus watches as the two men on either side of him do the same… but the blonde does not. 

“The hell did you just say!?” 

“Look around… look at the streets, the buildings, you’re not on your turf anymore.” 

“Oh yeah? And we’re on yours?” the assailant with the gun spits. “This part of town is run by Patton.” 

The blonde raises an eyebrow - somewhat amused - and suddenly Janus feels a different surge of fear run through him. He knows about Patton. He knows about almost every gang and gang leader that runs different parts of this shitty town, and he knows Patton doesn’t just run a gang. He runs a mafia. And a powerful one, at that. 

The attacker without a gun’s face falls, and he smacks his buddy. “Dude,” Janus just barely hears him curse, “I think that is Patton.” 

“No. You’re joking.” 

“Dude. Fuck, man.” 

“I think you boys better run back to where y’all came from,” Patton insists, taking a single step forward. “Before things get… messy.” 

The two gang members hesitate, looking between Patton and Janus as if weighing their survival rates between fighting here, and going back empty handed to their boss, but inevitably they turn and scurry, leaving Janus at Patton’s feet, feeling a mixture of concern and relief. 

Patton turns to him, and offers him a hand, but the moment Janus hesitantly accepts it he’s being yanked onto his feet. 

“Well, now that that’s sorted, why don’t you tell me why you’ve gone and gotten yourself tangled up with a set of gang members!” Patton says, as his hand falls to Janus’s lower back. It’s an action Janus would typically consider intimate, but in this instance it’s firmly guiding him forward, escorting him… somewhere. He’s quick to notice Patton’s two friends falling behind them, no doubt lingering back in order to make sure Janus doesn’t try to run. Not after he’s basically sworn his obedience to another gang. “You should know loan sharks like them are awfully ruthless.” 

“Of course I know that,” Janus snaps slightly, as anxiety is still tight in his chest. Though, he quickly reels himself back in order to not cause anymore trouble. “Of course… I know that,” he repeats, a lot calmer this time, “but I was out of options. I can’t work without a house, and I can’t afford a house without work. It seemed feasible to simply get a loan and pay it back at the time.” 

Patton raises an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t consider a bank?”

Janus can’t resist rolling his eyes. “Obviously I considered a bank. But they don’t really want to lend to unreliable people.” 

“Ah. Understandable.” Patton pats Janus’s back, and Janus stumbles over his feet at the force of the hits. “Now, you did say you had a lot of use, yes?” 

Though he bites his tongue, Janus straightens up best he can. “Yes. I did.” 

“Wonderful. In my establishment, everyone does their part. We like to keep things running smoothly, and in order to do that, there are a lot of different jobs around our villa.” Smiling, Patton cocks his head slightly to the side, blonde curls bouncing atop his head. “I already have a few ideas of where you’d fit. Surely not with my… buddies, but I don’t think working outside would be good for you anyway with an active target on your back.” 

Speaking of buddies, Janus glances over his shoulder at them. He sees them talking with one another, almost casually engaged in conversation. 

The taller of the two hardly looks like he’d be engaged in a mafia at all - but then again Janus supposes Patton doesn’t really look like he’d run a mafia either - as he’s dressed in bright white and red. Even the buttons on his pants are flashy and gold. He’s very dramatic in his hand movements as he speaks, waving his fists in the air and splaying his fingers in front of him, while the other - a brunette with the tips of his bangs ombreing into purple - nods along, only looking like he’s half-listening. Though, at some point, he seems to notice Janus staring, and scrunches his nose up in distaste, hitting the first guy in the chest without breaking eye contact in order to signal his attention towards Janus. And when he notices, he promptly shuts up, and juts out his chin judgmentally, which has Janus frowning and turning back around. 

“I can fit in anywhere,” Janus replies, in a way that’s more than honest. “Even if I’m not sure what to do, I can learn.” 

Patton chuckles. “Eager, are we?” 

“Eager to not die,” Janus clarifies. He doesn’t want to give Patton the wrong idea; he doesn’t want to be indebted to another person. But he’ll do what it takes to survive. “If that means cooking, or cleaning, or whatever, then so be it.” It’s not like I have much say in the matter. 

Patton stares at him for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin, unreadable smile, before his hand slides over Janus’s shoulders, which he squeezes in such a way that Janus can’t help but stiffen. His hands curl into fists at his sides, but he says nothing. 

After that, they walk in silence, with Janus shivering slightly in the cool day’s air as he wasn’t properly dressed for the breezy weather (and didn’t expect to end up being forced outside in a blood-pumping escapade). Luckily though, they end up nearing a small collection of large homes past a hefty gate (that look wildly out of place considering the otherwise poor area they’re in). 

Some of the houses around this one are also nicer, but not nearly as well taken care of as the buildings past the metal fencing. 

Patton stops Janus as they walk, and leaves him standing back with his two buddies - who very quickly crowd either side of Janus, as if preventing him from potentially bolting - as Patton himself steps up to the gate and flips open a keypad. His bulky build easily hides the numbers he hits, but as soon as he’s done the fence is creaking open, and Patton is leading them all inside. 

The multiple buildings Janus previously noted end up all looking like they’re part of the same community, and were all built to match. There’s one large house - that looks more like an apartment building than anything, if not for the beautiful, homey porch lined with a grill, tables, chairs, and all the other works that a clearly lived in yard would have - and then three smaller ones. One that’s shorter in height, but a lot longer in width, stretching a decent portion of the area, and then more structures that look more like typical homes. Decently sized homes - with at least five or six rooms, if Janus had to guess - but homes nonetheless. 

Decorating this area was a surprisingly large number of people, scattered in groups along the perimeter. Janus can see two working the yard, raking up fall leaves, and four more tossing a ball around. Most of them look like bigger, stronger men, but occasionally a woman will walk by, and greet one of these lads with either a gentle kiss or a few words. Some of them are dressed in long skirts and are carrying baskets full of laundry or what look to be materials of some sort, while others are wearing cargo shorts and tank tops, with their hands wrapped in bandages, walking with such confidence that Janus would be worried to ever be standing in their direct path. 

“Should we prepare a cell for him?” one of Patton’s friends - the one with the purple hair - then asks, as he crosses his arms over his chest. “We’ve got plenty of empty ones.” 

“I’d much prefer we leave him tied up to a post outside,” the other one then mumbles, giving Janus a distrusting look. “If he was causing problems with that gang, then he’s bound to cause problems here. And the last thing we need is a troublemaker running around the premises.” 

“Oh, hush,” Patton scolds them, sounding rather paternal. “It’s not like this young man has caused us any trouble. And if he does, then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Patton’s hand claps Janus’s shoulder, and then squeezes it rather tight. “Now, I believe I never caught your name?” 

“In your defense, I never threw it.” 

Head falling back in laughter, Patton guffaws with genuine amusement at Janus’s response, leaving Janus awkwardly shifting his weight back and forth, as he glances towards Patton’s friends, which look both annoyed and completely exasperated. 

“Well aren’t you a funny little thing!” Patton exclaims, his accent somehow thickened by his laughter. 

Janus gives a half-smile at the comment, before looking away, until Patton’s hand falls from Janus’s shoulder to his hand. 

Patton’s thick fingers wrap around Janus’s considerably smaller hand, and then pulls him away from the largest building, which has the other two immediately protesting. 

“Where are you taking him?!” the purple one hisses, sounding stressed at the idea of Janus being anywhere but here. “I thought he’d be rooming in the main housing unit!” 

“Or at least in one of the empty holding rooms,” the other whines, stomping his foot on the ground in a rather childish manner. 

Raising an eyebrow, Patton smiles as he counters “weren’t you two the ones just groaning over the idea of him gettin’ a regular room?” 

“Over a cell, yeah,” the taller one huffs. “I didn’t think you’d take our complaints all the way to the special house!” 

“Boys, no jealousy now. This isn’t permanent. In fact, it’s better he stays nearby so I can better keep an eye on him. Or Logan can.” 

“What’s Logan going to do if he tries to run?” the tall one mumbles. “Throw a book at him?” 

“Roman,” Patton scolds, “none of that.”

Roman pouts, and crosses his arms over his chest, but he turns to his friend to back him up. That friend glances down at the ground briefly, before saying “I don’t like the idea of him being so close to all of us, especially while we sleep. What if he gets his hands on a weapon?” 

“Then I reckon you’ll do your job as you should, Virgil,” Patton quells him. “Now why don’t you two run off and see what Remus is making for supper.” 

Roman’s face falls immediately. “You put Remus in charge of supper?!” he squeals, before turning and running towards the longer building. Virgil gives Janus a final, distrustful look, before walking after him, and disappearing into the structure afterwards. With the two of them gone, Patton resumes walking, this time in the direction of one of the more normal-sized looking homes (though, they’re still a lot bigger than anything else Janus has even imagined stepping a foot in). 

“As Roman was saying, I’ll be taking you to my building,” Patton explains, as they get close enough for Janus to discern the difference between the two similarly-structured buildings. One is slightly taller than the other, with a porch that’s rather cutely covered in potted plants, hanging flora, decorative statues (from unnerving gnomes to a painted ceramic fairy), and the likes, while the other is almost barren and basic. The two of them head towards the one ornamented with things. “Roman likes to call it the ‘special house’ but I find that rather rude. It’s where myself and those closest to me room.” 

“Easiest way to keep an eye on me, huh?” Janus utters. “Surrounding me with those you clearly trust with your life?” 

Patton chuckles. “Smart one, ain’t you?” 

As Patton leads Janus onto the porch, Janus realizes the house is… big. Not just in height, or in width, but it’s literally built to be big. The doorframe has been specifically constructed to fit Patton’s tall, heavy build, and he’s easily able to grab the door and hold it open for Janus, but Janus himself feels miniscule when measured up against every pillar and beam holding this building upright. 

Inside the house is one man, who’s sipping from a mug while holding a paper in his hand. He barely looks up, spots Janus, and then sighs as he looks back down at his document. 

“I thought you were done collecting strays, Patton,” the man says, though his tone is void of any annoyance or discouragement. He sounds as though this is genuinely a conversation the two of them have had in the past, and Patton’s actions are directly going against a previous promise. 

Patton pats Janus on the back. “This was a special occasion!” he insists, sounding all-too cheery. “Janus, this is Logan. He’s my… technology guy.” 

“I specifically work in information technology,” Logan elaborates, as he sets his cup down in order to offer his hand out to Janus. A bit surprised, Janus takes it and shakes it, put at ease by the seemingly normal greeting. “I handle a lot of resource management, as well as general inventory. In case you haven’t noticed, there are a lot of people present here, which means a lot of inventory that needs to be properly ordered and accounted for.” 

“Logan keeps things running smoothly, especially when I’m out for a bit,” Patton whispers, though his words aren’t hidden from any of them. “Speaking of which, would you mind inspecting the side of the house? I’m thinking of expanding it a bit; I might add another room or two on the left hand side.” 

Logan’s eyes flicker to Janus, and then he nods. “I’ll schedule a surveyor to gather an informed assessment to see if we could add on anything, and will report to you when an answer’s been given.” Logan then grabs his mug of coffee, and takes one step backwards, inching into the edge of the hallway. “Anything else?” 

“That’ll be all, hun.” 

With that, Logan turns fully and eventually heads into a random room, followed by the soft click of a door. Janus stares, and then fully cranes his head to stare up at Patton. 

“Are you really running a mafia?” he blurts, before hesitating slightly as he rephrases his question. “This seems like… a rather big and thought-out operation, and obviously it’s nothing like any gangs around here. Most of those groups definitely don’t have information specialists that order inventory.” 

Patton’s laughter is boisterous and immediate, with him grabbing his gut as his head falls back in sheer amusement. He even wipes a tear from his eye! “A mafia? No, no. I know that’s what people say… but it’s not true in the slightest. Nor is the idea we’re some sort of gang. My community is… a generous one. We give what is needed, but not without expecting some sort of tradeoff.” 

Janus raises an eyebrow. “Like a gang.” 

“With much less violence,” Patton’s quick to add. “I don’t like things to get messy unless absolutely necessary. Besides, some people are less fortunate than others. Not everyone can, let’s say, hold down a job?” Patton gives him a knowing smile. “However, they may be talented in other regards, like sewing, or fighting, or fixing computers! It’s those sorts of talents that I value, and that can be used as payment for favors.” 

Patton gently pushes Janus forward, and Janus begins walking down the hallway, with Patton directly behind him. 

“I feel that this system works much better than giving to the less fortunate, and unreasonably expecting more back, plus interest. As Logan would say, it’s not logical.” 

Janus’s lips press together into a thin line. Though Patton’s logic is rather sound, and honestly rather kind, Janus doesn’t exactly know people to be nice out of the kindness of their hearts. Surely, there’s some ulterior motive… Nobody’s this generous. 

“This is where you’ll be staying,” Patton then says, as he reaches around Janus to open up the door he’s next to. It’s the room all the way at the end of the hall, decorated by stickers covering it from head to toe. As the door itself is pushed open, Janus is greeted by a room that already looks well lived in, with many framed pictures lining the walls, a television that’s been left on, and a few stray pieces of clothes lining the floor. The bed is made, though, and Patton’s quick to sit on the edge of it, kicking his shoes off his feet as he leans back with a groan. 

Blankly, Janus watches Patton for a moment, before asking “is this some sort of… joke?” 

Patton looks innocently confused. “Is what some sort of joke?” 

“You said this is my room, when it in fact looks like it already belongs to somebody else.” 

With a cheery face, Patton shakes his head, a soft laugh spilling from his mouth. “I didn’t say that, silly. I said this is where you’ll be staying; I didn’t say this is your room!” As Patton shifts back on the bed, he pats the mattress twice. “In fact, this is my room! No better way to keep an eye on you than sleeping with you, right?” 

Janus’s eyes go wide in surprise, and Patton looks almost confused by his reaction, before a second burst of laughter rushes through him. Patton falls back against the bed with delight, his legs kicking slightly as his amusement fills the large room. 

“Oh- oh darlin’, with that sort of mindset, I’m sure you and Remus are going to get along great!” he exclaims, as Janus feels almost embarrassed at his initial assumption. Though, much to his shock, Patton’s sighing as he pushes himself back up and clarifies “my bed is actually a trundle bed. Most new recruits spend the first few nights with me until we get a room sorted out for them… unless, of course, they need to be held in a cell.” Patton waves his hand dismissively, as he brings his toes beneath his bed while raising his long comforter up a bit, tapping on the boarded walls of the trundle bed and letting Janus see that one is actually there. “But… since your mind was already wanderin’ places… I’ll tell you right now I have no problem with you ever choosing to satisfy yourself. I’ll leave the room if you need me to… but I can always stay if you’d like.” 

Letting out a short, half-laugh, Janus quips “are you this flirty with all your desperate newcomers, or am I just special?” 

Patton grins, looking a lot less innocent, and a lot more mature now, as he scratches at the blonde beard lining his smiling lips. “Now doll, you should know I can’t answer that. Fights would break out in every dorm if I openly played favourites.” Patton sits up straight, and then leans forward in his bed. “And you look like the secret-spillin’ type.” 

“Impressive read,” Janus mumbles. 

“I pride myself on paying close attention to everyone I meet.” Patton’s eyes glance up and down Janus’s body, before he tilts his head upwards slightly, with his glasses catching a glare from the light fixture above. “And that includes you.” 

Janus’s hands are folded behind him, resting on the back of the closed door keeping him here with Patton. As the pads of his fingers graze the brass knob, he briefly considers turning and leaving, and satisfying his urge to further explore this odd establishment… but strangely, he finds himself compelled to stay. With Patton. 

He takes a step forward, nearing Patton’s body. His eyes flicker to the gun still strapped to Patton’s hip, and then back to Patton, who rather gently reaches forward to set one of his hands on Janus’s hip. 

He doesn’t squeeze, nor grope, nor even try to pull Janus closer to him. Instead, he raises an eyebrow, and his blue eyes twinkle with a mixture of happiness and mischief. “I take it you want me to stay?” he asks, his voice more than teasing. Janus masks his embarrassment with a smug grin. 

“I take it you want me to stay,” he corrects Patton. “Most people wouldn’t offer up sexual favors to strangers they’ve just met. Not unless they find them particularly alluring.” 

“Well, you are mighty interesting. Hopping from one gang to the next trying to find some security and safety? Not very wise. And yet, incredibly smart.” Patton’s hand trails down Janus’s hip, and wraps around to squeeze softly at Janus’s ass. Yet Patton’s gaze never leaves Janus’s countenance, genuinely searching for any shift in Janus’s emotions. Janus can tell he’s behaving considerately, and it takes his breath away. “Most people in your situation would have ended up a… a chalk outline on that street. But here you are!” 

Janus wants to roll his eyes at the fact Patton considers groveling at a random person’s feet to be quick-witted - he’s sure anybody in any situation would beg bystanders to intervene and save their life. If anything, it was more interesting that Patton actually did step in, even if it meant a potential fight. 

Before he knows it, Janus is being guided into Patton’s lap, where he finds himself straddling one of Patton’s large thighs. Patton’s shorts ride up as Janus’s body slides over his leg, exposing his hairy flesh underneath. Janus’s hands brace themselves against Patton’s chest, where his fingers sink slightly into Patton’s squishy body. 

“You know, I think I may have found a job for you,” Patton then says, his voice barely a whisper. “Something that’s not cookin’, or cleanin’... something more involved.” 

Something favorable is what Janus gauges from this conversation. Not that he’s ever been particularly sexual, but he knows sex itself is an intimate act. An intermingling of bodies and a mixing of souls. At least… that’s how it’s been described to him by saps who do nothing but consummate. And yet, Janus is also aware that doing something so intimate could be a good thing. Surely Patton will be less likely to hand him over to the people who want him dead if they’ve engaged in inappropriate behaviors together; though Janus knows it’s still possible, he also knows that it’s significantly more unlikely. 

And so, Janus puts on a tight lipped smile, as he responds “and what exactly would that job entail?” 

And Patton kisses him. 

It’s not messy, or inexperienced, or even desperate! In fact, it’s almost… sweet. There’s no intrusion, no push, just a simple kiss, with their lips pressed together and Patton’s facial hair tickling Janus’s cheeks. 

When he pulls away, Patton asks “does that answer your question?” 

And Janus smirks, but only slightly. “Not quite. I need a… clearer example, perhaps. Something that really displays your intentions. I’d just like to know what I’m getting tangled up in; coming from my situation, you must understand my skepticism.” 

“Oh I understand.” Patton’s hand slides up from Janus’s waist and rather soothingly rubs his back, before settling back on his hip. In fact, both of Patton’s hands come to Janus’s sides, and very slowly begin to move him forward, and then push him backward, rubbing Janus over his thigh. 

Janus very quickly sucks in a sharp breath, before masking his moan with a soft laugh. “Well. This is certainly not how I expected my evening to go.” 

“Is it a pleasant difference? Or an inconvenient one?” 

“A bit of both.” Janus reaches forward, twirling his finger in Patton’s beard, and pulling softly on the hair. Patton’s freckled cheeks are flushed pink. “Though, if this will guarantee my safety, I have no qualms about proceeding.” 

Patton raises an eyebrow, and chuckles. “Always thinking ahead, huh?” 

“People like me have to.” Janus’s finger slides down Patton’s chest, subtly seeing if he can feel any more hidden tools or weapons. But he just feels Patton’s squishy body. Is he only armed with a singular, visible gun? “So?” 

Blue eyes flicker down to Janus’s lips, and then back up to his face. Inspecting his soul. “So… of course I’ll guarantee your safety. That’s why I took you in, after all. I’m an honest man; I said I wouldn’t hand you over, and I meant that. If you ever step out of line, Remus will just… take care of ‘ya.” 

I bet he will, is what Janus wants to reply, but instead he keeps his mouth shut, and lets Patton slide his hands beneath Janus’s shirt. 

They don’t attempt to pull the fabric off, but they do caress Janus’s skin, eliciting goosebumps across Janus’s body paired with a slight shiver. 

“I won’t overwhelm you too soon, doll,” Patton assures him, though his voice is more silly than anything. “It’d be a pity to break you in this early. Besides, I like takin’ my time with things… Life’s a lot more pleasant when you slow down and enjoy the little things.” 

By “little things” he clearly means Janus, and slowing down is definitely in reference to the fact that Patton is very gentle with Janus… as if scared to move him too quickly in fear he’ll scurry away! However, Janus is fine with the way things are turning out. Sure, it’s quite the surprise, but Janus would be blind to not see the advantages that come with sleeping with the leader of what is clearly a well-known group! So when Patton’s hands begin to lead Janus back and forth on his thigh, Janus finds himself barely suppressing a groan, and doing a lot of the work himself. 

He rocks his body forward, dragging his growing bulge along the length of Patton’s leg, before stilling as his ass reaches Patton’s knee. 

“You sound purdy,” Patton mumbles, his accent thick in Janus’s ear. “You don’t need to be embarrassed about being loud. The rooms around here are soundproof.” 

“Good to know,” Janus utters, though he does hiss in surprise as Patton’s lips press against his neck. His head cranes to the side as Patton’s beard slides against his skin, followed by Patton’s lips kissing the length down his throat. His affection is gentle and his hold is intimate, and yet he’s leading Janus back and forth, urging his cock along his leg, filling Janus with growing arousal and light pleasure, of which only increases when Patton bounces his thigh slightly and pushes his leg up harder against Janus’s body. Janus moans as the pressure against his clothed cock increases, and then bites his lower lip when he feels Patton smile against his flesh. 

The movements are careful at first… but they don’t stay that way for long. 

Very soon after the grinding starts, Patton can’t help but speed Janus up! He very easily maneuvers Janus’s smaller body back and forth, quickly settling on a rather fast-paced rhythm that has Janus struggling briefly to compose himself. 

Janus’s hands slide from Patton’s shoulders to his arms, until his fingers are digging into Patton’s hairy forearms, squeezing at the fat and muscle built up there. Patton’s fingers grip Janus’s hips tighter in turn. 

“You really are quite the beauty,” Patton murmurs, with his face still buried in Janus’s neck. “Hard to believe a little thang like you got tangled up in a mess like this.” 

“Yeah well, little things like me have a bit of trouble holding down a job,” Janus huffs, as Patton’s teeth bite the collar of his shirt, and tug it down slightly. He thinks Patton’s going to bite him, and tenses in preparation, but that rough treatment never quite comes. Patton nips at him once or twice, but mostly he just kisses. One kiss, two kisses… so many that if Patton was wearing lipstick, Janus’s neck would be completely stained red. 

Patton chuckles softly, and then pulls away. With his tight grip, he lifts Janus partially off his leg, filling Janus with a sudden surge of fear. Of course he already realized Patton was strong, but Patton’s lifting him like he weighs nothing. Furthermore, Patton seemed content just guiding Janus along his leg, so why was he shifting their positions all of a sudden? 

Janus’s internal questions are quickly answered as Patton flips Janus around, leading him to face the closed door and decorated walls as Patton holds him from behind, settling his face on Janus’s shoulder. 

As Patton’s fingers dip to Janus’s waistband, then teasingly begin to undo the buttons. “This is okay, right?” he asks, voice soft in Janus’s ear. 

Janus represses the urge to snort at the bit of worry. “Of course it is. I’d be thrashing and screaming if I thought otherwise.” 

Smiling, Patton’s hand dips past Janus’s zipper, and past the waist of Janus’s boxers. With a bit of fumbling, Patton eventually manages to pull Janus’s cock out. Patton’s large hand almost completely envelops Janus’s otherwise average sized cock, giving Janus the unique feeling of slight embarrassment. But Patton’s so large that Janus supposes this was to be expected, and so quickly settles into the feeling of Patton’s fat fingers gently squeezing around his shaft, and his calloused palm dragging over the length of his cock. 

Whilst shuddering, Janus leans back to rest his body against Patton’s own, which Patton seems to enjoy. The hand around Janus’s waist to keep him steady presses further into him, as Patton grips him tighter, and his hand speeds up around Janus’s cock. He keeps an otherwise leisurely pace, but it’s fast enough to feel good, and Janus lets out a shaky moan at the feeling. 

He feels Patton breathing hard against his neck, flooding his senses with warmth as panting fills his ears. Patton doesn’t say much, but every so often his lips will press against Janus’s hairline, resting there. 

And when he squeezes around the base of Janus’s cock, Janus can’t help but dig his sharp nails into Patton’s arms, hissing out a particularly high-pitched moan that has Patton breathily laughing behind him. 

“I don’t know how I’m going to handle sleeping with such a beautiful buttercup in my room,” he murmurs, sounding incredibly earnest. “I’ll just want to stay awake and admire every bit of your countenance.” 

“Sap,” Janus utters, as he rolls his hips into Patton’s touch. “I don’t believe you when you say that I’m a special case. There’s no way someone in such a position as you would just suddenly get all affectionate towards a newcomer.” 

“You caught me. Perhaps I’ve gotten handsy once or twice in the past…” Patton’s voice playfully trails off, before he kisses Janus’s earlobe. “It’s not common by any means, but if you were in my position, wouldn’t you want to inspect the new merchandise?” 

Janus snorts. “Awful lot of ‘inspecting’ you’re doing. Does rubbing me help you commit my genitals to memory?” 

“No, but your willingness to let me do as I please speaks to your desire to be protected.” Patton squeezes Janus’s body, and pulls the air from his lungs. “And I’ll protect you, of course! I’m a man of my word, after all, and it is a dangerous world out there. Far too dangerous for dames like you to be cavorting from gang to gang seeking financial security.” 

Shifting in Patton’s grip, Janus retorts “well, it’s not like banks were going to do me any favors. And if I ended up homeless, I’d just be arrested for sleeping on the street. Making deals were worth a shot.” 

Patton hums, and then rocks Janus back and forth sweetly, though his hand speeds up around Janus’s cock. A sudden moan is pulled from Janus’s lips. 

“I do what I can to keep those less fortunate than I safe. But it gets lonely. I’m allowed to want a companion. And you’re allowed to want protection. Consider this… symphonic!” 

“What?”

“You know, when two animals work together, and they both get something out of the relationship? Like a small animal picking food out of the teeth of a bigger one?” 

“Symbiotic?” 

Patton blows a raspberry with his mouth, and then laughs in Janus’s ear. “Exactly!” 

“Exactly,” Janus repeats, his voice barely audible. The moan that follows after is incredibly audible though, and that itself is emphasized by the plethora of curses that fill the room as Patton’s palm drags up and down the length of Janus’s cock. 

Janus’s balls are briefly fondled, before his cock is back to being rubbed, with Patton finally fully focusing on actually getting Janus off. No more teasing, foreplay, or rather surface-level compliments. Just sheer, physical pleasure that leads to Janus squirming on top of Patton’s thigh, and Patton jerking him off, sliding his large palm up and down Janus’s cock, milking out a steady stream of pre that only serves to further lubricate Patton’s path. 

And very quickly thereafter Janus feels his body becomes overwhelmed with heat. 

As sweat beads on his neck, and warmth pools in his abdomen, Janus clings on to Patton’s body. He’s both amused and admittedly a bit aroused at the favoritism being displayed - even if Patton insists it’s nothing of the sort (or it is, but only behind closed doors) - and Patton is good with his hands. Both of which are petting Janus down, guiding him further and further to his inevitable, orgasmic climax, of which is brought on by just a few more pumps of Patton’s fist. 

Janus’s orgasm is both expected and blissful, as he bites his lips hard to seal away his noises of pleasure, but doesn’t bother to try and still his body as his hips jerk and buck into Patton’s hand. 

And Patton - being rather generous, as Janus is learning - strokes Janus through his orgasm, pleasuring his cock as semen spurts onto his fingers, before finally pulling it away. 

And then, while leaning back against Patton and catching his breath, Janus hears the unmistakable crinkling of plastic and a small snap as it’s pulled open. Surprised, Janus whips his head around, and has to resist the urge to both groan and laugh outright as he sees Patton holding a small, packaged pack of tissues in one hand, with a ripped piece of plastic in his mouth. 

Patton smiles at Janus and spits out the wrapped, skillfully grabbing a tissue out of the package with his clean hand and using it to wipe off his dirty fingers. 

“Did you grab those from somewhere on your bed, or did you have them on you already?” Janus asks, unable to repress the grin on his face. 

Cheekily, Patton admits “I always keep a pack or two in my pockets. You’ll never know when a mess needs to be cleaned up! Or when a sneeze is coming on!” 

Rolling his eyes, Janus chooses not to comment on it further, and instead lets Patton wipe him clean as well, before Patton’s standing up and dumping Janus onto his bed. The dirty tissues are dumped into a small trash can near the door, and the rest of the unused package is placed on the nightstand, as Patton brushes off his thighs. 

“I can fit you in with Roman sometime in the next few days,” Patton then says, catching Janus off guard. “He makes clothes in his free time, and considering your house is probably being patrolled day-and-night… Well, I hope you aren’t particularly attached to any specific shirts or anything.” 

“We can’t just go shopping?” 

Patton raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to go shopping? The closest clothing store is-”

“Downtown. I know.” Janus groans, and pushes his hands over his eyes. He can’t go downtown, because that’s where the gang that currently hates him is. Besides, he really should keep a low profile, and so it wouldn’t be wise to really go anywhere. 

“And I’d offer to just glance at the sizes on your current clothes, but uh…” Patton tugs at his collar. “They don’t exactly look like they fit too great.” 

Janus frowns at him, but Patton’s words are true. His shirt was too big, and his pants were too small. He didn’t exactly have the funds necessary to get a new wardrobe if he ever outgrew anything, and if he bought the wrong size then he’d have to take time out of his (previously) packed schedule to go and return it! 

“Fine. New clothes sound lovely,” Janus eventually sighs, as he tucks himself back into his pants. “I suppose it’d be nice to not have to sleep in jeans every night that I’m here.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Patton claps his hands together. “Now, if you want to go on and pull out your trundle bed, I’ll head down to the canteen and see what they’re servin’ for supper tonight. It’s best you eat in here for the time being, and maybe tomorrow I’ll begin to introduce ‘ya to the folks in my community. That okay?” 

Janus snorts. Even if it wasn’t okay, it’s not like he had much of a choice. “That’s fine, Patton.” 

“Wonderful! I’ll be back soon, doll!” 

 With that, Patton steps out of the room, and immediately greets Logan in the hallway once more. Janus only catches Patton inviting Logan to go grab dinner with him before the door is shut, and subsequently locked, leaving Janus stuck in his… new home, alone for the time being. 

And being alone gives him the time to fully focus and process on his current predicament. An unfortunate one. A… scary one. 

“It’s a very important reminder,” Logan insists. “If the goats aren’t milked twice a day, their udders will swell and become incredibly agitated. This engorgement can lead to infection, which obviously can harm or kill them.” 

As Janus pulls his gloves off, and heads out of the barn, he asks Logan “can that happen to you?” 

A bit startled at the question, Logan’s hands instinctively cross over his chest. “It can,” he answers, despite being quite caught off guard. “Though, I’m incredibly responsible, so I’ve never had to worry about that. And I’m mostly independent, so I don’t have to rely on a farmer who can easily forget.” 

Though Logan speaks earnestly, his words still have a bit of a jab, as though implying he wouldn’t trust Janus to milk him if given the chance. 

Janus frowns, and goes to respond, only for Logan to turn away from him. Logan’s looking out into the field, where Virgil’s lingering, both observing the crops and checking the perimeter. He stops though when he spots Logan, and his tail wags excitedly. Though, when Janus waves at him, his tail falls, and he turns back around and continues his work. 

Sighing, Janus stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Do you think he’s ever going to warm up to me?” 

“You’re a big change in our relatively small world,” Logan answers. “Would you warm up to the meteor that crashed into your home and killed your parents?” 

“That feels a little dramatic.” 

Logan adjusts his glasses. “It is. It’s a hyperbolic example. But to Virgil, this is a dramatic shift. You’re not just some temporary visitor; you’re a new caretaker, and one we weren’t told about beforehand. There’s been no time to mentally prepare, and no acclimation period.” 

“That’s not my fault, though,” Janus argues, though his tone comes off more concerned than defensive. “I am genuinely here to help.” 

Logan stares at Janus for a few seconds, before saying “then you’ll have to give us time to believe that. You’re a stranger. Virgil’s a guard. Distrust is only natural.” 

“What about you?” 

“I don’t trust you either.” Logan’s tone is blunt, but his words aren’t malicious. “But I understand that you’re here because of what you inherited, and that you feel familial pressure to step up. I’m sure you want to help, but there are plenty of people who will say that and then neglect their surroundings in favor of fun.” 

Janus reaches to set a comforting hand on Logan’s arm, but Logan steps away, averse to his touch. So Logan watches as Janus’s hand falls, and he sighs again. “I won’t do that.” 

Logan spares him only a glance, before Virgil emerges from the field, coming back into their view. This time, he’s motioning for Logan to come forward. So, with a polite but thin-lipped smile, Logan says “forgive me for needing to see consistency before I believe that,” and then he walks off, leaving Janus with a bit of free time as he shuffles into Virgil’s arms. 

Virgil very quickly and very tightly embraces Logan, holding him firm, and rubs his head over Logan’s face, neck, and chest. 

“You’ve started to smell like him,” Virgil grumbles, as he attempts to recoat Logan in his scent. “I’m sick of you showing him around the farm.” 

“Well, someone has to. And you refuse.” 

Virgil makes a growling noise at Logan’s logic, but very clearly softens when he pulls away from Logan and notices the way he’s holding his chest. His eyes linger over Logan’s torso, before flickering back to his face. 

“Do you need to be milked again?” he asks, and Logan nods slowly. Frowning, Virgil says “you never used to let yourself get this full… You’d take care of it immediately. This is twice now since Janus has been here. Is everything okay?” 

Logan nods again. “Everything’s fine.” 

“If everything’s fine, then why didn’t you use your pumps this morning?” 

Stepping back and away from Virgil, Logan watches as Virgil stiffens and clenches his jaw out of stress. Virgil reaches for Logan immediately after, desperate for them to stay close. 

“I feel like I don’t have the time,” Logan eventually says. “It’s your job to guard the farm, and I understand that, but you had significantly more free time before Janus arrived. Now, because you’re never willing to remind him of the animals’ routines, or of how to check the crops, I have to do all of it. Which means I have to get up earlier, and don’t have the time to pump.” Logan steps further away from Virgil’s affection, and this time Virgil’s hands fall guiltily downwards, landing at his sides. “I’ll just pump tonight.” 

Virgil’s hands tap anxiously against his thighs. “If you’re full, you should pump now.” 

“I don’t have the time to pump now. We have to check the hens.” Logan glances behind him, and sees Janus idling a ways away. He’s watching them, but is at least nice enough to avoid intruding. “And I’m sure you have to do another run-around of the perimeter.” 

Frowning, Virgil starts with “I’m sorry-” but Logan quickly raises his hand to silence him. 

“If you’re sorry, then you’ll get up with him tomorrow. I dislike this as much as you do, but that doesn’t mean you get to pretend it’s not happening. That’s not what Mr. Dolion would’ve wanted.” 

Virgil looks displeased, and then sorry, and then his ears are pressing flat against his head as he reaches for Logan again. This time, Logan lets Virgil pull him in, and Virgil tightly holds Logan against his chest. Though he’s unhappy, he says “okay. I’ll get up with him tomorrow. I’m sorry,” and Logan knows he means all of it. So, Logan hugs him back, lets Virgil rub against him until he’s satisfied that Logan smells like him, and turns to scamper back through the field. 

Logan returns to Janus’s side. 

Though Janus had seemed to only stand around uselessly, he’d actually gathered the cloth sling used for collecting eggs. At least he was ready. 

Logan leads him to the coup, and lets Janus go in alone this time, as he stands right outside the small gate. Stepping over it would remind him of just how heavy his chest is, and he knows that if he focuses on how full his breasts are becoming, then he’s going to slowly stop thinking of anything else. Staying distracted until nightfall - which would hopefully be coming soon - was truly the best option. 

When Janus emerges from the coup, he’s cradling the sling carefully, even though there’s really no need for the extra support. 

“What have you been doing with the eggs?” Logan asks him, as Janus makes his way back to the house. 

Janus glances at him, and then smiles slightly. “Cooking them, or feeding them back to the hens. There’s just so many, though, that I’m worried that if I don’t have eggs with every meal, my fridge will be quickly overrun by them.” 

“You can always donate them to Patton or the twins. Or use them in our food.”

Chuckling, Janus says “I did use them in your food. Last night. You couldn’t taste the eggs in the egg-sandwiches I made?” 

Logan stares at Janus, and doesn’t answer. 

He and Virgil in fact did not taste the egg sandwiches Janus made for them the night before. Though Logan had told Janus they’d needed food from him after a couple days (as they only had packaged food for the night Janus showed up, and the two days following), neither him or Virgil really wanted to eat what he was making. Virgil had worried it was poisoned.  Logan just wasn’t hungry. So, they’d let the food sit out until it spoiled, and then they both slid their portions right into the trash. 

Janus seems to understand his silence though, and his amusement quickly fades into brief disheartenment. 

Though, he quickly tries to lighten the conversation once more as he says “well, how would you like your eggs cooked tonight? Clearly over-easy wasn’t good; perhaps scrambled? Or sunny-side-up?” 

“We’ll eat them however,” Logan curtly answers, as they head inside Janus’s house. Despite him having been here four days now, a lot of his stuff was still packed in boxes, as if he’d been avoiding setting his stuff up. “Actually eat them, this time,” Logan then assures him, as he watches Janus carefully set his cloth sling on the counter and take the eggs out to wash them. Then, he pulls out an empty carton (one of many stored in the kitchen), and stores each dripping egg within it. 

“In that case, how do eggs in purgatory sound for dinner tonight?” 

Logan makes a face. “What are ‘eggs in purgatory?’” 

“It’s basically shakshuka.” Janus places the carton in the fridge, and wipes his wet hands on his pants. “Soft-cooked eggs in spicy tomato sauce, with garlic and herbs. It’s quite good.” 

“I’m sure it is.” 

“And you’ll actually eat it this time?” Janus sounds concerned as he asks. 

So, Logan sighs. “I will. I’ll try to convince Virgil to as well, but it might take him longer to trust you won’t spike our food with poison or sedatives.” 

“Are those actual worries of his?” 

Logan nods. “Plenty of poachers out here. Plenty of money-hungry hybrid-hunters as well. I’m sure you can only imagine how much your grandfather spent on us.” 

“A lot, probably.” 

“A lot,” Logan affirms. “Which means if you were ever looking to sell us to someone for quite a bit of money, and weren’t willing to run a background check on the person first, then you’d need a way to sedate us. And ship us away. And then probably get us abused or killed.” Shrugging, Logan then says “at least, that’s what Virgil worries will happen. I try to remind him there are hybrid-cruelty laws in place to prevent situations like that, but he says there are laws in place to prevent murder and that still occurs, so there’s not much I can do to quell his fears.” 

“He actually believes there’s a chance I would do that to the two of you?” 

Logan’s tail flicks side to side. “We don’t know you,” he reminds Janus, though he feels like he’s had to repeat himself over and over at this point. 

And so, Janus sighs. “If Virgil wants to help me cook, he’s welcome to do so. Even if he just wants to watch for the sake of his sanity. He might learn a thing or two about spices and seasonings.” 

“We’re not allowed to cook,” Logan reminds him. 

However, Janus smoothly counters with “you never asked to cook. I’m telling you you’re free to learn. Either of you; I’d be willing to teach. It’s kind of a tease to have a stove in your barn and not be able to use it.”

Logan’s brows furrow slightly, and he crosses his arms tightly over his chest at the proposal. “If you’re implying that you want us to learn to cook for ourselves so that you don’t have to do it, you can just say that. Don’t let us burden you with even more chores.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Janus corrects him. “I understand your cynicism, but you know very well that it was just a suggestion. If you never want to learn to cook, then I will happily provide. Don’t twist my words into something they’re not.”

Logan frowns, but says nothing, as he instead lowers his head as Janus pulls out a few pans. 

“I’ll probably start on dinner now, just to get it done early,” Janus says, keeping his back to Logan. Awkwardly, Logan idles behind him. “And after I bring it to you and Virgil, I’ll milk the goats again.” 

“That’s a smart idea,” Logan murmurs, as Janus then digs through his spice cabinet. “That way you’ll be near the animal barn anyway.” 

Janus smiles again, this time turning towards Logan so Logan can see it. “That was exactly my thought process. How about you go fetch Virgil, and the two of you relax before dinner tonight. Hopefully you can ease his mind about eating… maybe remind him he needs to keep his strength up. And maybe, while you’re in there, you can pump.” 

Logan’s arms press harder against his torso, and his face flushed. He clears his throat. “You noticed?” 

“You told me you needed to pump twice a week. It’s been three days since you’ve pumped, and you’ve been tightly holding your chest all day. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.” 

Logan would argue against such a claim, but chooses instead to keep his mouth shut. Because while he knew he was subtle - and was rather good at being such - Janus is perceptive. If Janus was anyone else - like Mr. Dolion, per se - he wouldn’t have noticed. But Logan at the very least has to give Janus credit for noticing the smaller things… such as how often Logan’s arms remained crossed against his front. 

So, instead of continuing this rather lackluster conversation, Logan decides to do as Janus says and go find Virgil. 

He first steps out into the field - holding his breasts as each consequent step makes his chest feel heavier and heavier - looking through the budding crops to see if he can spot Virgil doing laps around the fenced-in farm area, growling at the predators looming in the thick woods surrounding their farm. But alas, Virgil’s nowhere to be seen. Logan shouts his name a few times, knowing that if Virgil’s out-of-sight somewhere, he’ll hear Logan’s calls with his acute hearing, but there’s still nothing. So, Logan heads to the barn, wondering if Virgil’s already turned in for the night. 

As he steps inside, he sniffs at the air, trying to determine whether Virgil’s been in here recently. And luckily, Virgil’s scent is strong. But that’s not the only signifier. 

As Logan moves towards their nest, he can hear frantic panting behind the closed door, with little cries of profanity and “no, no, no,” repeated on loop. Despite the fact the nest is both of theirs, Logan knocks out of politeness, alerting Virgil to his presence, before he opens up the door. 

Inside, he finds Virgil kneeling on the ground, ears pressed flat against his head like he’s just been caught doing something bad. In his hands are Logan’s pumps, which are visibly broken. 

“Logan,” Virgil starts, voice deep and trembling. His eyes are pricked with worried, frustrated tears, “I’m so sorry-” 

“What happened?” Logan asks, as he slowly lowers himself to the ground. He tries to mask the discomfort in his body as his tits bounce and fall, heavy with milk as he lands on his knees, but he knows Virgil is already aware of how full he is. And he’s just getting fuller by the second. 

“You were just-” Virgil stammers, as he passes Logan his broken pumps, “you were just so upset and because of me you didn’t have time to pump, so I thought- I thought I’d be nice and try and grab them for you, and prepare our nest, and I just broke them. It was an accident; I tripped and they fell and I-” 

Logan shushes him softly, as he looks over his pumps. On one of them, the suction has been torn, both off the bottle and nearly in half. If he tried to attach it to his body, it simply wouldn’t hold. The other’s plastic is cracked, and Logan can only assume when Virgil tripped he landed on them. Neither of them would work. 

Swallowing the spit in his mouth, Logan sets the shattered pumps to the side, and grabs Virgil’s hands instead. 

“Deep breath,” he instructs, as Virgil’s fingers squeeze his own. “It’s okay. You didn’t break them on purpose.” 

“But I still broke them. And I know how full you are. And now your chest is going to hurt and get infected and-” 

Logan quietly shushes him again. “You’re catastrophizing. We’ll… we’ll figure something out.” 

He tries to sound convincing as he says that, but Virgil’s quick to pull away from Logan’s affection, as he notices that Logan’s attention is directed elsewhere. Downwards. At his aching chest. 

Logan mumbles an apology, but pushes his hands in front of his chest, though his face goes red with sheer humiliation when he feels milk spurt from his nipples and leak into his shirt at the pressure. Virgil flushes too, as he watches the fabric darken with moisture. 

“What should… what should we do?” Virgil asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re in pain, and I broke your pumps, and-”

“We should get Janus,” Logan gasps out, interrupting him. Despite the milk leaking down his chest, he can’t help but squeeze his breasts, praying the pressure will keep most of it inside. Though, he does have to bite his tongue to repress a whine at the fleeting feeling of relief. 

“We don’t need him,” Virgil immediately argues. “We can- we can figure something out!” 

“Virgil,” Logan whimpers, before swallowing the spit in his mouth. He takes in a shaky breath. “Virgil, I really think we should go get Janus. We can just tell him the pumps are broken, and he can order new ones” 

Virgil grits his teeth, his canines prominent and sharp. “I don’t trust him.” 

“I know, but-” 

“Logan.” Virgil gives Logan a wide-eyed look, his eyes full of uncertainty. “What if he hurts you? We can tell him after you’re milked. He can order you new pumps when you don’t need to be emptied immediately. Just… just not right now. We can’t tell him now.” “Virgil stands, and begins sorting through their nest, moving quickly due to a mixture of concern and guilt. Logan can only imagine how responsible he feels for Logan’s current aching. “What good would it do anyway? He can’t get you new pumps by tonight, and I can’t watch you sit in pain any longer.” 

Eventually, Virgil finds a small bucket full of nutritious snacks they’ve stockpiled. He turns it on its head and shakes it until it’s empty before kneeling in front of Logan. “This can’t be that difficult. Lift up your shirt.” 

Logan looks hesitant. He keeps his hands pressed against his front for a few moments more, before taking a deep breath and nodding. He very slowly grips the edge of his shirt, and lifts it up, holding it just above his swollen tits. 

“It might be more comfortable if it’s off completely,” Virgil shyly advises him. 

Logan pulls it off fully, and tosses it to the side. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” 

“We don’t really have another option,” Virgil says, as he fidgets with the bucket in his hands. His eyes are shamefully trained on the broken pumps. “Besides… it’s just milking you, right? It can’t be that difficult.” 

“It’s a lot different than milking a cow.” 

Virgil chews his bottom lip, and scoots the bucket forward between Logan’s spread thighs. Logan leans forward so that his chest is aimed over it, even though the position is incredibly awkward, and waits for Virgil’s touch. Virgil’s hands hover over Logan’s chest for a few moments, as if nervous to try, but a soft noise of pain from Logan has Virgil rushing to help. 

His hands grope Logan with complete inexperience, his calluses rubbing over Logan’s wet nipples. Logan moans at the feeling, turning his face to hide it in his shoulder as Virgil fumbles with him, until finally Virgil is giving his breasts a firm squeeze. Expectantly, milk comes streaming out from Logan’s nipples, but Virgil realizes that he’s misjudged the bucket's position in relation to Logan’s body, and thus his entire thighs - and the floor beneath them - are splattered with liquid in a matter of seconds. 

“Fuck!” Virgil curses, overly stressed as he pulls away immediately. Logan lets out a soft cry at the lack of touch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-” 

“Virgil,” Logan interjects, voice breathy. His eyebrows are creased. His face is flushed. “Virgil, calm down. I need you right now. I need relief. I need… I just need it out, please. Even if it gets all over the floor I just need it.” He sounds like he’s about to start crying. “Please. I can’t take another day of pro- pro-” Logan squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a frustrated curse, before shakily enunciating “production.” 

Virgil’s hands tremble. “But… but we’ll make a mess of our nest… and I’ve already made a mess of us… and a mess of this. I can’t… I’m supposed to help you.” Despite his words, Virgil’s hands slowly land on Logan’s chest once more, though this time his touch is faint, threatening to pull away at any moment. 

He’s doubting himself, and Logan can see it. So, Logan sets his hands over Virgil’s own, panting softly as he insists “please.” 

Virgil stares at him, before nodding, and closing his eyes to think for a moment. His mind is clearly racing, as he rushes to come up with some sort of intelligent solution, before his eyes snap open. He seemingly has an idea.

He moves the useless bucket to the side, and guides Logan to lay back on their nest of blankets, pillows, and dirty clothes, immediately distracting Logan somewhat with the safe scent of Virgil surrounding him. 

“Virgil,” Logan vocalizes, “I’m not sure that being horizontal is opti… optim-” Logan shakes his head, “a good position for milking. Without my pumps, there’s not going to be any pulling or sucking to help draw the milk out. And… and it’ll get all over me.” His voice begins to waver with fluster as Virgil shuffles between his legs. 

Instinctively, Virgil’s tail begins to wag, subconsciously excited at the familiar position even if his mind is more focused on Logan’s swollen problems. 

“There’ll be a sucking force,” Virgil assures him, even if he sounds unsure himself. “Trust me, Logan. I’ll take care of you. That’s what I’m here for.” His forearm rests on their nest beside Logan’s head, and his fingers soothingly brush through Logan’s hair, rubbing affectionately over his ears. 

“I don’t understand your implication…” Logan mumbles, unwittingly leaning into Virgil’s pleasant affection. And so Virgil sucks in a deep breath, steadying himself, and then makes his intentions clear by slowly licking over one of Logan’s tits. 

His wet tongue against Logan’s equally damp nipple makes Logan immediately moan, and his head falls back with pleasure. 

“Virgil-” he whimpers, but this time Virgil shushes him.

“If I just drink it, then you won’t feel full, and there won’t be a mess, yeah?” Virgil looks up at Logan as he teases Logan briefly with his mouth, before wrapping his lips properly around Logan’s nipple. He sucks slowly, just a few times, until milk is splashing into his mouth, filling it with the sweet, lukewarm substance, and shivers at the cry Logan lets out. Virgil pulls away after, swallowing his mouthful without an ounce of hesitation, and wipes a drip from his chin with his shoulder. “Is that… is this okay?” 

Logan pants softly. He brings his knuckles to his lips, pressing his hand firmly over his mouth for a few seconds before nodding slowly. “It’s a bit… It's a bit unorthodox, but it’s amazing. Virgil, I-”

“Shh.” Virgil pets him firmly. His tail whips back and forth behind him feverously. “I’d never make you beg for relief. I told you I’d take care of you; let me take care of you. That’s my job.” 

Then, he lowers his face back down, his lips wrapping around one of Logan’s breasts while his fingers knead at it, pushing against the plump, swollen skin, and causing milk to spurt in powerful streams into his mouth. It splashes and gushes against his tongue, and Virgil’s repeatedly swallowing second after second to make sure hardly any spills out. Meanwhile Logan can’t help but moan at the feeling of Virgil’s lips rubbing and teasing his areola. His chest is sensitive normally, let alone when he needs to be milked, but he never thought Virgil’s mouth could top the already arousing suction from his pumps. 

As Virgil moans softly around his nipple, Logan’s chest arches upwards and into his mouth. He lets out a weak whimper of “Virgil,” and squeezes his thighs together, which unintentionally makes a rather lewd squelching sound and draws Virgil’s attention downwards instead. 

His lips pull away from Logan’s chest with a wet pop, and he hooks his fingers into Logan’s jeans instead. The scent of Logan’s arousal fills his senses. 

“You’re horny,” Virgil says, though it’s more of an excited observation than any sort of accusation. His tail is wagging with sheer excitement. 

Logan whimpers, but spreads his thighs apart, letting Virgil see the wet patch that’s soaked through his jeans. As Virgil’s fingers press against the dampened area, Logan pushes his knuckles over his mouth, stifling a rather pathetic moan. 

“God,” Virgil breathes. “I’d be lying if I said I don’t smell you whenever you pump. You always smell so hot and so aroused, but… is it always this intense? Are you always this turned on while being milked?” 

“Somewhat,” Logan mumbles. “You amplify it.” 

“I amplify it?” 

Logan’s head thuds against the soft pillow beneath him, which is wrapped in one of Virgil’s dirty shirts as a makeshift pillowcase. Virgil’s own familiar scent guides him to take in a deep breath, feeling overly safe and - with one of his breasts significantly less full - overly good. “You have to… have to remember what position we’re in. It feels like you’re going to… going to breed me.” 

Virgil’s tail somehow wags even faster at the idea, before he softens slightly. “I think if I tried to fuck you while sucking, milk would just end up all over us. But…” Virgil pulls away from Logan completely, which earns a needy whine from Logan as he pushes himself up slightly, breasts sloshing as he watches Virgil quickly shuffle out of his jeans. 

His boxers are very noticeably tented, and when Virgil quickly wriggles himself out of those, Logan can see he’s incredibly hard. Being both a werewolf and an alpha, Virgil’s cock is rather long when fully erect, and - due to his knot - rather thick around the base. 

Before Virgil even thinks about touching himself though, he’s stripping Logan of his pants and boxers as well, exposing Logan’s dripping cunt and leaking cock. Virgil’s fingers dip between Logan’s folds, and rubs up through the wet area, and towards the base of Logan’s cock, which resides where a typical clit would be.

“God,” Virgil breaths, before he impulsively dips his head between Logan’s thighs. His long, rough tongue slides against Logan’s vulva, with Logan’s juices gracing his tongue and making a mess of his lips. So much so that when he pulls his face away, Logan gets to see Virgil’s mouth and chin glistening with Logan’s own fluids. Then, Virgil’s crawling back over him, guiding Logan’s legs to wrap around his hips and pushing their cocks together, while his mouth presses against Logan’s own in a matter of seconds, overwhelming Logan’s tongue with the taste of his own arousal. 

As he does so, his hand crawls back up Logan’s body, and begins to massage at his full breast, causing milk to trickle out and onto his hand. 

“Virgil-” Logan whimpers, as his hips jut against Virgil’s own, “I’m-” 

Virgil’s moving to lick up the spillage before Logan can even comment on his chest leaking. 

His tongue teases the area around Logan’s areola, licking over his soft flesh, before once more his mouth wraps around Logan’s nipple, sucking softly as milk splashes instantly onto his tongue. While he does so, he plays with Logan’s other breast, pinching Logan’s nipple between his fingers and rolling it softly, causing Logan to writhe and moan beneath him. 

“Virgil,” Logan moans, louder this time. His cock slides messily against Virgil’s much larger one, making him gasp and whine repeatedly. Relief immediately fills his chest as he feels himself progressively empty, his tits no longer swelling and aching to accommodate for all the milk he’s been producing. 

Virgil pulls away from his torso, licking his lips. “Are you… is this helping?” 

Logan lets out a shaky breath. “Very much so.” 

“You taste good.” 

“Then, please,” Logan implores him, hands shakily reaching for Virgil’s shoulders, “keep going. I’m still- there’s still-” Struggling to find his words in this blur of pleasure, relief, and his quickly building release, Logan just looks down at his chest, hoping Virgil will understand his implication. And thankfully, Virgil does, though not before kissing Logan quickly first. 

As he resumes suckling - this time having directed his attention back to the original breast he began drinking from - he starts slowly moving his hips. Being so close to Logan overwhelms his senses with Logan’s smell; Logan’s pheromones, his hormones, his arousal. Logan smells good, and Logan smells like he’s feeling good, and as Virgil starts purposefully dragging their cocks together, that sweet, sweaty smell becomes further amplified within their nest. 

Though his mouth is full, Virgil wishes for nothing more than to praise Logan for being so good, and to apologize for stressing him out. But he can’t actively, and so his tongue rolls across Logan’s nipple instead, hoping the pleasure he provides says more than enough. 

Logan’s head presses back against the pillows while his nails dig into Virgil’s shoulders through his shirt. He moans as Virgil keeps sucking until he’s empty, and even after no milk is spilling from his tit, Virgil sucks a few more times to make sure. And when he pulls away and wipes his mouth, Logan fears he might come on the spot from just how attractive the visual is. 

“Why’ve you never let me drink your milk before? From the source?” Virgil asks, voice soft. 

Logan swallows the spit in his mouth. “We’ve always had pumps,” he answers, “so there was no reason for this idea to ever develop.” 

Looking briefly guilty again, Virgil is quickly able to get over the now-broken pumps, because he’s too excited by where they are now. And frankly - now that he’s less achingly full - Logan doesn’t mind it much either. 

Virgil moves to his other nipple, sucking feverishly on it. Now that he’s had practice on one, he rather skillfully both sucks and pleases the other. His focus seems to be more on pleasing Logan than actually drinking now though, as between mouthfuls of milk he licks roughly or drags his teeth along the sensitive bud. Each scrape of Virgil’s sharp teeth sends jolts of pleasure through Logan’s hot body, and it’s only a matter of time before he’s completely empty, and feels massive physical and mental relief. 

As Virgil drinks down the last drops of milk from his chest, Logan lets out a shaking sigh of relief, before moaning outright when Virgil pulls away and directs most of his attention to frotting their cocks together. 

Logan feels a rush of juices spill out of him as Virgil grabs their cocks, pushing them together with his fingers and then pumping them in tandem. He cries out as his hips jerk, but that just encourages Virgil to stroke them faster. 

His palm drags along the underside of Logan’s shaft, while his thumb squeezes into his own, forcing them together. His hand slides easily along them, slick with the mixture of their pre, and Logan’s juices. 

“How are you feeling?” Virgil pants out, as Logan’s fingers press hard into his shoulders. His own face is flushed, as is Logan’s, and Virgil presses their foreheads together in order to keep their bodies as close as possible. 

“Good,” Logan whines, his voice sounding way more pathetic than he intends it too. His body trembles, and he’s a mess of noises and fluster as Virgil touches them. “Close.” 

“And… your chest?” 

Logan lets out a shaky breath as more and more precome spills out of him with each movement of Virgil’s hand, and each shift of Virgil’s hips, as their cocks are rubbed so intimately together. “Empty,” he eventually whimpers out, though his nipples pleasurably ache following Virgil’s sucking and teasing. 

Virgil nods at his answer, looking a mixture of relieved and overly aroused. His tail wags hard enough to guide his hips along with it, which only adds to the pleasure Logan’s feeling as their cocks are stroked and touched in tandem. 

“Virgil,” Logan cries, repeating his earlier admission of “close,” but Virgil doesn’t acknowledge it, nor do his movements slow. 

In fact, he almost seems to be driving to push Logan over the edge quickly and overwhelmingly, as he kisses Logan’s face, lips pressing against Logan’s sweaty forehead, his red cheeks, and then his parted lips. Logan moans the second their mouths press together, feeling heat course through him in waves, until Virgil nibbles at his bottom lip and murders “my pretty mate,” which is all that Logan needs to come spilling over the edge. 

His orgasm is enunciated with a loud cry of Virgil’s name, his back arching off their nest as his nails dig hard into Virgil’s body. Come spurts from his cock, splattering over Virgil’s hand and onto his own stomach as juices simultaneously gush out of him, wetting the space between his thighs as his cunt pulses. 

Virgil strokes him through his orgasm, seemingly intent on milking every part of him, until he’s whimpering in overstimulation and squirming. 

“Sweet thing,” Virgil coos at him. “Can I keep going? Please? I’m close too; I want to finish on you, mark you up completely with my scent.”

“Yes,” Logan moans, despite the fact he’s whining between breaths. 

Virgil is more than pleased with that answer though, kissing Logan roughly and breathlessly, drinking in Logan’s frequent noises as if he’s addicted to them. He keeps their cocks pressing and sliding together, both of them glistening with Logan’s mess. 

Virgil makes his own slew of noises to match Logan’s, as his pleasure reaches his peak. 

His orgasm is unannounced but expected, and Logan can’t help but shiver at the guttural groan Virgil lets out as he comes, further messing the space between them, even though neither of them seem to mind. He strokes their cocks a few more times as he fully finishes, before pulling away, and sitting temporarily back on his knees in order to admire the way Logan looks decorated in both of their semen. 

“My mate,” Virgil happily proclaims, as he rests his hands on Logan’s thighs, keeping them spread apart so he can properly appreciate Logan for just a few seconds more. Then, he pulls away, and grabs a spare shirt of his from the edges of their nest, using it to wipe Logan clean (and to rub his scent properly into Logan’s skin). Once Logan’s no longer covered in their mutual mess, Virgil is scampering around their blankets to gather up clothes. In the end, Logan ends up with a clean pair of boxers being tossed towards him, followed by a pair of Virgil’s sweatpants and one of Virgil’s hoodies, both having been recently worn and thus smelling intensely like him. Virgil watches with rapt attention as Logan slides them on. Then, he finds some clothes for himself to wear, and cuddles up to Logan’s side. 

As he wraps his arms around Logan’s midsection, spooning him from behind, he mumbles “sorry again… about your pumps.” 

Logan rubs his hand over Virgil’s, and eventually their fingers lace together. “It’s okay. It was an accident. I get new ones yearly anyway; they were coming up on being replaced.” 

“What are you going to do until then?” 

“Well…” Logan trails off, clearly hesitating. “We should tell Janus they’re broken. The sooner I get a new pair, the better.” 

“Janus is going to think we’re destructive. He’s going to think I broke them on purpose out of spite! And then, if he thinks we’re reckless, he won’t want to keep us, and we’ll end up sold and-” 

Logan turns in Virgil’s arms, pushing a hand over Virgil’s mouth as he does. “You’re spiraling,” he warns Virgil, “none of that’s going to happen. He’s probably going to just ask what happened, and then replace them. That’s it. Probably.” 

“You don’t sound very sure,” Virgil worries, voice muffled against Logan’s palm. But they don;t have much time to go around in circles, as Virgil immediately perks up suddenly, pulling Logan up with him. Logan’s held tightly against his chest, protectively gripped as Virgil’s ears twitch and he stares towards the wall. Then, Virgil’s frowning, and growling under his breath. “Speak of the devil, he’s here.” 

“He said he’d be stopping by,” Logan calmly explains. “He should be bringing supper.” 

“I don’t want to eat that shit.” 

Logan stands, pulling away from Virgil’s grasp. Virgil rushes to follow him, and entwines their fingers, squeezing Logan’s hand. “You must,” Logan insists, and despite his voice still quivering slightly, he leaves no room for argument. “If you don’t eat, you can’t keep your energy up. And you won’t be a very good farm dog if you’re too fatigued to do anything but sleep all day.” 

“I’m fine now, aren’t I?” 

Logan opens the door to their nest, peeking out of it and spotting Janus, who’s set two plates on the table in their dining area. “You need protein.” 

“I can get my own protein.” 

Frowning, Logan turns back to Virgil, and then steps out of the room, pulling Virgil with him. “Quit being stubborn,” he scolds. “You can dislike him, but you shouldn’t starve yourself to prove a point.” 

When Logan walks to the dining area, Virgil is forced to follow, refusing to let go of Logan’s hand. Janus looks up when he hears them approaching, and smiles at the two of them. He very slightly tilts a plate to let them see the eggs and sauce he’s made. 

“Eggs in purgatory,” Janus sings, playfully. “It’s good; I promise.” 

Virgil scrunches his nose up in distrust, but Logan just nods his head. “Thank you.”

“You guys are free to come eat in the main house, if you’d like,” Janus then offers. “That way, if you want seconds, I can easily bring them to you.” 

Virgil interjects before Logan can even speak, insisting “no thanks. We’re perfectly fine eating alone.” 

Janus looks towards Logan to gather his thoughts, but Logan just squeezes Virgil’s hand, and says nothing, silently agreeing with Virgil’s proclamation even if he personally would have worded it differently. And so, Janus nods. 

“Alright. Well, if you want any more, feel free to come knock. There’s sure to be plenty of leftovers.” 

“Duly noted. Thanks.” 

Janus gives them both another smile, even though neither of them return it, and then leaves. Logan sits down in front of one of the plates, but Virgil lingers, staring angrily at the red sauce and yolk-filled eggs. 

“Come try a bite of mine,” Logan then says, as he cuts open an egg, a beautiful yellow-orange colour spilling out from it and mixing in with the spices and herbs. “Your metabolic system is much faster than mine; if there’s any sort of poison or sedatives, then this bite will be too small to hurt you in any way, but you’ll still be able to taste if it’s off.”

Virgil finally pulls out his seat, and sits down. 

“That way, you’ll be keeping me safe,” Logan then encourages, as he holds his palm beneath his forkful, catching the splatters of sauce that drip down off the prongs. 

“If I taste anything off, I’m going to tear him apart,” Virgil huffs, fingers curled into fists on his thighs. “I won’t let him hurt you.” 

“I know. Say ‘ah.’” 

Begrudgingly, Virgil opens his mouth, and pulls the egg from Logan’s fork with just his teeth, avoiding chewing it for as long as possible. Logan - who’s pretty convinced Janus did not spike the food - watches him with a raised eyebrow. 

When Virgil finally bites down, his jaw moves slowly, before finally he sighs and his shoulder slump. As he swallows, his eyes glance up at Logan. “There’s no poison,” he mutters. 

“I know.” 

Virgil leans over their table, grabbing his own fork and poking his food with it. Eventually, he stabs a solid piece, and brings it to his mouth, eating it despite being clearly grumpy. Logan seems satisfied though, and turns to his own food, trying a bite himself. Though he heard Janus describe it, he’s still pleasantly surprised at the mix of flavors and utilization of the eggs, and honestly it’s a pretty filling meal to have after the day he’s had. 

“I’ll kill you!” 

No, Virgil’s words only served to make Janus frown deeper and deeper as his hand throbs with an unfamiliar, almost forgotten agony. 

Janus, sick of the noise, unfurls his fist and spreads his fingers in a sudden burst of movement, which causes the door to swing open as if it was kicked down, promptly thudding against Virgil’s face and sending him spiraling backwards. The smell of delicious, metallic blood wafts into Janus’s face as a result of the action, and Janus watches as Virgil quickly pushes himself onto his knees, red spilling from both his nostrils and down his lips. 

“You bitch!” Virgil seethes, as he tries to get onto his feet. Before he can even get off the ground though, Janus is swiftly pressing his boot against his chest and stomping, forcing Virgil to the ground so roughly the air is pulled from his lungs. 

“I’d watch it, if I were you,” Janus replies, voice void of any playfulness or mimicry. It’s a genuine warning, and one that Janus watches Virgil shrink at. 

Virgil opens his mouth to respond, and then closes it again, before he narrows his eyes and says through gritted teeth “where’s Patton?” 

“Dead,” Janus responds. “Or lost. Or safe in one of my rooms. Whatever you want to believe.” He watches the way Virgil’s expression flickers from shock, to despair, to hardened-over anger as he struggles between which of Janus’s truths actually have merit. 

Frustrated, he growls out “you-” but Janus promptly stops him. 

“Shut up,” he hisses, stopping Virgil’s words in their tracks. “Any immature insult your small brain could possibly come up with is one I’ve heard ten times over and in ten times more creative ways. I’m sick of hearing your scratchy voice echoing throughout my corridors. So shut up, or I’ll cut that tempest tongue right out of your mouth.” 

Fully aware that Janus’s threats aren’t to be taken lightly, he clamps his mouth shut, but his hands push against Janus’s shoe. Hearing Virgil’s labored breaths through his nose, he eases his weight off of Virgil’s chest, and sets it aside. Sitting up, Virgil looks over Janus’s body. Janus can imagine him searching for any sort of sign of Patton’s whereabouts, but Virgil’s eyes end up focusing on his hand, staring openly at the burnt flesh. 

“What…” Virgil nervously starts, glancing at Janus as though worried his words will get him hurt. When Janus does nothing, he continues. “What happened?” 

“It’s a burn, obviously,” Janus answers. “I have flesh, just like you.” 

“Does it hurt?” 

Janus scowls at him. “Would pressing your hand against a stove hurt?” 

Grumbling, Virgil mutters “geez, it was just a question,” before glaring up at Janus and saying “it’s not like I care anyway. I hope it fucking hurts.” 

Intense eyes pouring into Virgil’s skull, Janus can’t help but just observe him. Janus had just insulted him, threatened him, hurt him, and Virgil still acts like a brat? He’s silent, and watches as Virgil trembles beneath him, cowering in Janus’s shadow and looking almost nervous, as if he knows he’s messed up. 

And then, his lips quirk up into a small smile. And that smile turns into soft snickering. And that snickering turns into full on laughing, of which he tries to stifle with his normal hand as Virgil’s fear melts into a frown at his display, no doubt aware he’s the one being laughed at. 

“You’re a prick,” Virgil states, as he finally gets back to his feet, as Janus’s chuckling settles into an amused smile. 

“So you’ve told me,” he replies, before reaching towards Virgil’s face. Virgil steps back and away from him, but that just has him tripping and falling onto the edge of the bed. Trapped against the mattress and Janus’s looming form, he has no choice but to just tense his jaw as Janus cups his face and thumbs over his bloody upper lip. 

Scooping up Virgil’s blood onto his fingers, Janus shamelessly brings his hand to his mouth and sucks the digit clean, making Virgil grimace. Virgil’s blood tastes bitter and sour… definitely an acquired taste. Any other bloodsucker would probably dispose of Virgil quickly and without much enjoyment, but Janus quite enjoys the unorthodox and unpleasant taste. Plus… as it’s swallowed down, it has a rather sweet aftertaste. Surprisingly complex…

Virgil's shoulders rise as he watches Janus taste and savor him, in an attempt to protect his neck, as he spits out “if you’re thinking of drinking from me or something, then you can forget it. I’d rather die than let you suck me dry.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Janus responds, with a roll of his eyes, “but you needn’t worry about me indulging right now. I’ve eaten recently, and thus have no need to feed from the likes of you.” 

Virgil’s face scrunches up in distaste at Janus’s words, before it sort of falls in realization as he processes what Janus has said. 

“Did you-” Virgil sits up with more alarm, and approaches Janus with wide eyes, “did you feed from Patton?” 

“I might have.” Janus wipes the corners of his mouth, not realizing his tone was a lot less playful and a lot more tainted than he intended. Subconsciously still stewing on what had happened during his outing. “If I did, I’d be able to tell you he tastes quite delicious. He might even be my favorite so far, though I’ve only sampled two out of the four morsels I currently own.” 

Janus then grins and reaches forward to grip Virgil’s nose with his knuckles, wiggling his head back and forth and making Virgil gasp in sudden pain. “Three if we include the little taste I just got. Though, you might taste better in mouthfuls than in small droplets.” 

As soon as Janus lets him go, Virgil’s recoiling completely, holding his nose in distress while blood leaks through his fingers. But Janus just watches the tears pool up in Virgil’s eyes with a rather adoring sigh, before he grabs Virgil’s wrist and tugs him forward. 

“As much as I am fond of blood,” he starts, leading Virgil out of the room and down the hall, “I’d rather not have it decorating my otherwise pristine floors. Could you try to be less messy?” 

“Me?!” Virgil replies. “You’re lucky I’m even keeping my nose covered, after you’re the one who broke it!” 

“It’s not broken.” 

Virgil sneers at him. “It sure as hell feels broken.”

Janus smiles. “If it was broken, you’d be in a lot more pain, and I would have heard a significantly worse crack. It’s most likely a minor fracture; you won’t need much more than a nose splint.” 

“And you just happen to have one of those?” 

Janus guides Virgil into a rather extravagant bathroom - one that finally isn’t attached to a bedroom - though it looks like it hasn’t been used in a while. When Janus flips the lights on, they flicker, and when he pulls open a cabinet on the left-hand side, dust comes flying out. Virgil coughs, as Janus’s tongue briefly darts out of his mouth to taste the air, which he looks displeased at. 

Turning to Virgil, Janus jokes “how upset do you think Roman would be if I made him clean in here?” 

“He’d be pissed,” Virgil answers immediately, not even entertaining the thought. 

Janus looks through the shelves and finds a small, clearly unused first aid kit. He sets it on the sink counter and fumbles with the box, struggling to snap it open with just one hand. So, he very subtly flicks his fingers upwards and opens the kit that way, with the lid popping up with sudden ease. He tilts the box forward and peers into it, before grinning and plucking out a small jar and what looks like a strange bandage. 

“Sit,” Janus beckons him, motioning to the toilet seat, which Virgil sits on, still muttering pained obscenities under his breath. 

“Whatever weird vampire shit you’re going to smear onto me, I’ll pass,” Virgil groans, as he thumbs between his eyes, rubbing the top of his nose. “I’d rather just get this stupid splint on and get it over with.” 

“This salve will help you feel better,” Janus explains, as he tucks it in the elbow of his injured arm, and opens it with his normal hand. His rotted hand stays unintentionally and limply hanging in front of Virgil’s face, making Virgil’s countenance scrunch with disgust. “It was made years ago, but it works. I got it from a snake oil salesman… literally. Not a metaphorical one. He had a bunch of wares, and this ‘incredibly efficient healing salve’ was one of them. I used it once and remember it working wonderfully, so I’m hoping it’ll ease some of your pain as well.” 

Virgil slowly lowers his hands from his face, letting Janus see the blood coating his palms and his entire lower face - from the bottom of his nostrils down to his chin. “Why do you care?” 

Janus dips his fingers into the thick, light-purple tinted cream. He scoops a rather fine amount onto his fingers, and kneads it into the pads of his fingers. “I don't,” Janus answers, as he reaches forward to gently slide his hand along the bridge of Virgil’s nose, massaging the salve into his skin with a surprising amount of care. “I’d just rather not hear your incessant whining for the next week while your nose healed on its own.” 

Janus’s fingers travel down the entirety of Virgil’s nose, but focus mainly on the fractured area, which he correctly pinpoints as being between Virgil’s narrowed eyelids. He presses on that area, which earns a hiss of pain from Virgil’s mouth. He applies extra medicine to that area, before pulling away with a smile. 

He closes the jar and sets it aside, before holding out the splint and pressing it to Virgil’s face. It’s similar to a decently sized cotton bandage being pressed over Virgil’s nose, with tape barely reaching his cheeks to hold it in place. While Virgil’s eyes cross to try and get a better look at the thing, Janus pulls Virgil’s hands out and bandages his scratched knuckles, splintered by the wood he was ruthlessly beating against. He doesn’t bother wasting salve on it, as he has a feeling Virgil will be punching something else in a few days time. 

Once Janus releases his hands, Virgil’s running his fingers over the splint covering his nose. He’s visibly unhappy. “When is it supposed to stop hurting?” he asks, grimacing with a slight hiss when he pokes at his nose a bit too hard, causing pain to pulsate through his face. 

Janus rolls his eyes, and ignores Virgil’s question. “A ‘thank you,’ would be nice.” 

“I’m not thankful,” Virgil immediately argues. “Not only did you ‘fracture’ my nose, but you still haven’t told me where Patton is.” 

Fronwing, Janus replies “I told you to use your imagination.” 

He turns away from Virgil to begin packing up his medical kit with one hand, while his injured one dangles at his side. A lot of the supplies inside the box are still good, even over a century later, but have just been sitting in his cabinet rotting. 

Virgil seems unhappy with that response, but finds something else to complain about as soon as he licks his under lip, huffing “I also still have blood caked onto my face, thanks to you.” 

Janus shuts the medical kit rather loudly, watching Virgil jump at the sudden, startling noise, before Janus leans over him. He grabs Virgil’s face rather roughly by the sides of his cheeks, squeezing his jaw until Virgil whimpers in discomfort… and then licks him. 

Janus relishes in seeing Virgil’s fear melt into shock as his forked tongue swipes excitedly over Virgil’s lips, cleaning the blood from his face while simultaneously indulging in a brief treat - an action that quickly morphs from a funny, impulsive decision to a more intimate one as Janus tilts Virgil’s head to the side and kisses his lips properly, letting Virgil taste his own blood staining Janus’s mouth until Janus’s tongue is more messily sliding up Virgil’s face, traveling up his upper lip and right beneath his nostrils where the most blood had run over, which is when Virgil is finally pushing Janus away. 

“Gross!” he shouts, as he wipes his face furiously, cleaning the red-tinted spit mixture from his chin. “You’re fucking disgusting!” 

“You’re rather delicious,” Janus cheerily replies, licking his lips without a care. “And clean now. Any more complaints?” 

“I’m still kidnapped,” Virgil says, as he pushes himself to his feet. “And-” 

“My dear,” Janus cuts him off, as he holds up his injured hand to stop Virgil’s approach, “if you mention Patton’s name again, then I fear I’ll have to make sure Patton won’t be around anymore for you to mention. Do you understand me?” 

Virgil scowls, face twisted in sheer anger. He doesn’t answer, and instead grabs Janus’s hand to no doubt push him out of the way, but in doing so Janus suddenly exclaims in pain of his own, frantically tucking his hand to his chest and stumbling back, biting his tongue to muffle any further noises that might pour from his downturned lips. 

They end up a few feet apart, Janus bent over himself as he holds his wrist, hands shaking as he’s filled with intense pain. 

And Virgil gasps a rather shocked “what the hell?! I thought you said it didn't hurt!” 

Janus glares up at him. “I never said it didn’t hurt,” he snaps, “of course it fucking hurts! You even said you wished it did!”

He tightly grips his hand, feeling his fingers sink into the damaged flesh, sending burning, pulsating pain through his wrist. He tries squeezing it, desperate for any sort of relief, only for Virgil to grab him by his shirt and push him onto the toilet seat.

Seething, he starts “whatever you’re planning on doing, keep in mind that I can still kill you,” but his words seemingly roll off of Virgil’s back as he opens Janus’s medical kit himself, and grabs the very same salve Janus just used on him. Immediately, Janus pulls further away, and insists “what do you think you’re doing? Don’t waste that; it’s irreplaceable!” 

But Virgil just shoots him a look of annoyance. “If you’ve had it for one hundred years and hardly made a dent in the jar, I doubt using a handful now will really make much of a difference.” 

He dips his hand into the salve, and brings out a palmful of the stuff, before very gently taking Janus’s injured hand into his own. 

He massages the medicine into Janus’s broiled flesh, rubbing it over the exposed muscle and injured skin, petting over it until Janus’s entire hand shines with the salve. There’s a tingling sensation that makes Janus bite his lip in pain as the wound is cleaned, before Virgil is taking bandages and wrapping it rather skillfully around Janus’s hand, until it’s all covered aside from his fingertips. 

When Virgil pulls away, Janus curls his hand into a gentle fist. It hurts, but nowhere near as bad as it did before. 

He looks up at Virgil, who’s packing everything back into the medical kit, and asks “why would you help me?” 

His tone is genuine, laced with actual confusion. Sure, he would expect this sort of thing from Patton, perhaps even Logan who’d be smart enough to understand medical supplies and would no doubt want to observe the effects of the salve… but Virgil?

Virgil’s answer is immediate though, as he shuts the lid of the box rather loud. “Because I want you to take me to Patton.” 

Janus narrows his eyes. “So? You think that just because you bandage me up I’ll be inclined to let you see your lover? I’m afraid you mistake me for someone far kinder than I actually am.” 

Virgil growls, and grabs the medical kit, whipping it impulsively towards Janus’s head. Janus raises his fine hand to stop it midair, where it hovers idly for a few moments before dropping gently into Janus’s lap. He goes to scold Virgil, but Virgil is frustratingly stomping around the large bathroom, pacing angrily back and forth over the cream-coloured tiles. 

“What would it take for you to let me see he’s okay?!” he shouts, looking a mixture of upset and desperate as he throws his hands in the air. “You take him in the middle of the night, you come back injured, and you won’t even tell me where he is or if he’s alive! He is… he is alive, right? You drank from him, but you…” Virgil slows to a stop, before he raises one of his hands to his mouth. His teeth click against his blunt nails. “You didn’t kill him… right?” 

Staying silent, Janus watches with raised brows as Virgil slowly shuffles closer, and quietly repeats “right?” His voice trembles in a way Janus thinks is odd coming from his mouth. There’s no facade of bravery, no anger… just pure fear. 

Janus doesn’t answer at first, before sighing after a moment and shaking his head. “No, no. He’s unfortunately still alive. Perhaps still a bit drained,” Janus winks - though he doesn’t smile - as he adds “no pun intended, but he’s fine.” 

“I want to see him… I want-” Virgil rips part of his nail off, and shakes his head, “I need to see he’s okay. What will it take?” 

Both a mixture of amused and surprised at Virgil’s earnest pleas, Janus thinks for a moment. What could he have Virgil do for him? It’s apparent he means anything, and Janus can imagine Virgil slaving away completing any humiliating ordeal Janus orders him to do… but what was there for him to do? Logan gathered food from his garden, Roman had cleaned his kitchen…

Oh! His kitchen!

“What? What is it?” Virgil asks. 

Janus gives him a weird look. “What do you mean?”

Narrowing his eyes, Virgil explains “your eyes lit up. You have something in mind. What is it? What are you going to make me do?” 

“You’re a perceptive little thing, aren’t you?” Janus teases, before standing. He puts away the medical kit before taking Virgil’s hand in his and leading him out of the bathroom. He feels Virgil’s fingers stiffen and refuse to close around Janus’s rather light hold, but he makes no attempt to fight Janus’s guidance, resolved to doing whatever it takes to see Patton, the same way he’d fought to see Logan and Patton back when they were first sequestered. 

Once they reach the kitchen, Janus sneaks a glance at Virgil, who is clearly staring surprised at all the bags on the floor, most filled with groceries. 

“What the…?” he starts, which has Janus pushing Virgil further into the room while he sits back on a chair and watches. 

“It’s food,” Janus declares, though he says it in a way that implies he thinks Virgil’s words were quite dumb. “You see… I figured you humans needed a little… variety in your diets, so Patton and I went shopping together. He picked everything out, so if there’s anything you dislike, don’t blame me.” 

“You and Patton-”

Janus cuts him off. “I already put away the frozen things; I know easily your food begins to spoil. Unfortunately my hand started hurting before I could finish up, leaving a mess on my kitchen floor!” 

Shifting from side to side, Virgil looks indescribably inconvenienced. “How did you hurt your hand anyway?” 

“It got burnt,” Janus vaguely replies. He scratches at his calves, which feel properly sunburnt, as opposed to completely melted. “It’ll heal up in no time flat.” 

Virgil lifts a bag, and a small smile creeps onto his lips when he sees three distinct boxes of cereal, knowing exactly who gets what. However, as he trudges over to Janus’s cabinets, he hesitates, and turns around to ask “are there specific spots for things? Or am I just supposed to shove stuff wherever?” 

“Wherever,” Janus answers. “Food hasn’t been kept in those cabinets for years. The only people who will be using this kitchen will be the four of you. Perhaps you should organize it like you did at your previous home… It might make your acclimation more pleasant.” 

Rolling his eyes, Virgil doesn’t bother trying to mask his scoff, though he does repeat “we’re going to be allowed to cook?” 

“Why, of course! I’m not a monster.” 

Virgil drags a chair across the floor and settles it against the counters in order to reach the upper cabinets as he mutters “sure could’ve fooled me,” which has Janus chuckling in sheer amusement as Virgil rather neatly lines up the cereal in the leftmost side. 

“This would be easier if you owned a pantry,” Virgil complains, as he steps down from the chair and moves to grab another bag. He has to slide his chair slightly to the side before getting back on it in order to access more of the cupboard. 

“All this kitchen space, and you think I should have a pantry?” 

Glaring at Janus over his shoulder, Virgil grumbles “it’d be easier than climbing up and down all the time. This is so tedious; you can't even put your own groceries away?” 

“And here I thought you wanted to see Patton…” 

Growling, Virgil curtly states “that’s not what I meant. Besides, I expected you to choose something more… horrific.” 

“You truly think so little of me.”

“You consistently tell me to.” Virgil packs some more non-perishables into the cabinets, and then once again has to step down from his chair in order to slide it over. Janus, meanwhile, enjoys watching him work. 

“Don’t act like you don’t love being told what to do,” Janus then comments, as he watches Virgil stand on his tiptoes in order to push a box into the back of the cupboard. Shamelessly, his eyes stare directly at Virgil’s ass as he stretches, rather enjoying the sight. “After all, you look like the type to get off on being controlled. I bet if Logan was telling you what to do right now, you’d be tripping over your feet to please him.” 

Scoffing, Virgil turns to argue, only for Janus to look like Logan. 

It’s so startling that Virgil nearly falls off his chair, and has to turn away and lean against the cupboard to recuperate. Virgil then slowly turns back around, mouth dry as Janus - who still looks like Logan - crosses his legs, grins, and waves his fingers in Virgil’s direction. In fact, the only difference in their appearances is the bandage packaged tightly around Janus’s palm. 

“How are you…” Virgil starts, but Janus answers before he can even get the question out. 

“I got the opportunity to get a good look at Logan’s body recently… committed it to memory. It’s not that hard of a body to replicate, in all honesty.” Virgil blinks, and suddenly Janus is back to normal, inspecting his nails despite Virgil’s gaping mouth. “I could probably do the same with Patton’s body. Maybe even Roman’s body. Perhaps even yours.” 

“What the hell are you?” Virgil asks, in a hushed tone. 

Janus chuckles. “My dear, that’s an excellent question.” Then, he motions towards the groceries on the ground. “You aren’t finished putting away the food, are you? There’s still so much left! And I’m sure Patton is so scared right now… completely alone… completely vulnerable…” 

“I hate you,” Virgil spits. 

Setting his hand on his heart, Janus lets out an obviously fake groan of pain, before quipping “you know, you’re awfully grumpy. Words can hurt, Virgil.” He unfolds his legs, and then refolds them, settling his elbow on his thigh. He rests his head in the palm of his hand as Virgil works. 

That comment has Virgil letting out an icy, sarcastic laugh. “Me? Grumpy? Maybe you should try being kidnapped. See how giddy you are then.” 

“Unlike you and your idiotic lovers, I’d never break into someone’s home. I only invade once I’ve been invited.” 

“Vampiric freak,” Virgil mutters, as he balls up some of the grocery bags and tosses them. Janus snickers at the comment. 

“Besides, you’re the only one who seems to be taking this hard. Patton’s been cheery, Logan’s been neutral, Roman’s been… Well, I haven’t actually seen much of Roman’s behavior outside of my influence, but I’m sure he’s still not as snarky as you are. Perhaps you should learn to accept this consequence, and understand that you wouldn’t be here if not for a decision the four of you made.” 

A box is being thrown at Janus’s head shortly after. With a sigh, Janus catches it with ease, and drops it onto the ground. 

“You’ve got quite the arm on you, you know,” he says, which has Virgil loudly groaning “piss off!” in response. 

Though, his scowling face has Janus tapping his chin, watching Virgil with a mixture of sheer curiosity and pure amusement. He behaves like a brat - he has his entire time here - and Janus can’t help but find it rather entertaining. It was fun to smother that fighting spirit the first time, but now he wonders what Virgil would look like with a different attitude. 

Silently, Janus pushes himself to his feet once Virgil’s occupied with organizing the filled cabinets. Most of the treats have been picked off the ground and put away, and whatever’s left can easily and neatly settle into a spot on the counter. So, he moves until he’s behind Virgil, and then rather carelessly kicks the chair out from under Virgil’s feet, causing Virgil to shout as he falls backwards and directly into Janus’s open, awaiting arms. 

Virgil’s hands instinctively cling to Janus’s shoulders as he reels from the feeling of falling, before he’s attempting to squirm out of Janus’s arms. 

“Asshole!” he declares, though Janus just holds him tighter, cradling him firmly. 

Without a word, Janus is blinking, and his eyes are changing into colourful, swirling spirals. Virgil doesn’t notice at first as he focuses on attempting to escape Janus’s hold, but as soon as he catches Janus’s eye in his peripheral, he’s involuntarily relaxing, and he’s giving Janus’s eyes his full attention. 

“What…” Virgil starts, though his voice trails off quickly. His body melts and softens until he feels like dead weight in Janus’s grip, with his eyes never even glancing away from Janus’s own. 

“There we go,” Janus softly praises him, voice hushed and amused. “Now you’re all nice and docile. But I want you more than docile. I’m sure you let your lovers see a happier, more giddy side of you, hm? Do you joke around them? Laugh around them? I’m sure you’re still a brat, but you’re likely a much more playful one with them.” 

Virgil lets out a soft, affirmative noise. 

Chucking in response, Janus murmurs “I thought so. You know… I’d like to see that silly, happy side of you. Not because I truly care about your happiness - you must remember that you’re about as precious to me as a medium rare steak would be to any hungry human -  but because I think it’d be quite entertaining. I can only imagine how amusing your stupid, mindless giggles will sound once your brain has melted right out of your skull…” Janus tilts his head to the side, and watches as Virgil mimics the action, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth. “Can you picture that? Being completely happy?” 

“Mmm.” 

“Picture it. Imagine yourself incapable of feeling sadness, or stress, or bitterness… Think of yourself as being solely happy, and giggly, and affectionate.” 

Virgil’s countenance displays hesitation at first, and although the crease in his eyebrows is slight, it’s enough to impress Janus. Any sort of resistance this deep in a trance would be admirable if Janus didn’t desire complete and utter submission. 

So, Janus repeats “you’ll be happy, and giggly, and affectionate.” 

He watches as Virgil is still unresponsive for a moment, before his lips turn upwards, and he’s smiling hazily at Janus with cloudy eyes. 

“Does that sound good? Being a giddy little bundle of laughter?” 

“Mhm…” 

“Yeah? Do you want to be happy and giggly and affectionate?” 

“Yeah… yeah…” 

Grinning, Janus squeezes Virgil’s body, feeling rather gleeful himself. “Say it then. Say you want to be happy.” 

Virgil lets out a soft breath. “I want… to be happy.” 

“And you want to be giggly.” 

“And I want… to be giggly.” 

“And you want to be affectionate.” 

Virgil’s eyelids droop with complete relaxation, his body limp with submission. “I want to be affectionate,” he mumbles, and Janus guides him through that mantra over and over until Virgil’s words are whispered and slurred together in a mess of cheery obedience. 

Then, Janus is very carefully tilting Virgil and setting him back on his feet, though he keeps his hands on Virgil’s waist for good measure. When he squeezes Virgil’s hips, pain pulses in his bandaged palm, but it hurts less with the salve, and that makes Janus squeeze Virgil tighter for just a few moments. 

Virgil wobbles back and forth on his feet, completely unsteady. He still stares into Janus’s face, hardly blinking, completely entranced, until Janus is slowly counting back from three. 

“Three… two… one,” and then he blinks, causing Virgil to blink too. And as the spirals disappear from Janus’s eyes, as does Virgil’s anger disappear right from his body, leaving him wide-eyed at first, and then glancing over to the chair he just fell from. He stares at it for a minute, and then looks back towards Janus, cheeks pink. 

“Did I… did I fall?” he asks, as he remembers the rush that came with plummeting backwards, but seemingly not recalling the fact that balance was intentionally ripped from him. 

Janus nods in response. “You did. Quite the clumsy little thing, aren’t you?”

Virgil stares for a minute, before he’s bringing one of his hands to his face and giggling, his eyes briefly fluttering shut as he laughs softly, before nodding. “Yeah,” he answers, in such a way Janus would think it was genuine if he hadn’t given Virgil’s attitude a temporary overhaul, “I guess I am.” 

 Immediately, Janus finds himself interested. With his hands clasped behind his back, he circles Virgil with sheer intrigue. 

“I luckily managed to catch you before you could hit the ground,” Janus further explains, watching as Virgil twists to watch him move, though Virgil doesn’t take a singular step away from the spot he was set in. “If you’d fallen fully, your head could have been bashed in on the tile!” 

Virgil snickers, and rather shyly tucks his face into his shoulder. It seems like second nature to him - an embarrassed quirk, perhaps?

“You’re silly,” he mumbles, still noticeably grinning. His arms wrap loosely around his body in a relaxed, comfortable manner, as he spins on his heels, following Janus with his gaze. “Why’d you catch me, anyhow? Frankly, you don’t seem like the type!” 

Janus hums at the question. It definitely sounds like one Virgil would ask, though noticeably a lot nicer than he’d ask it. Even though it wasn’t his intention, it seems that Janus had kept a bit of his snark, though just caused it to bubble out of him in a much sweeter way. A more playful manner, instead of a hateful one. “Well, I didn’t want to clean up a mess. And I’m sure Roman would have been unhappy having to lick more bodily fluids off the floor.” 

Though he pauses for a moment, tensing up briefly at Janus’s words, Virgil quickly relaxes again, his mouth moving in a silent pattern that Janus easily recognizes as ‘I’m happy, and giggly, and affectionate.’ 

And, well, Janus can’t help but grin! His influence is already deep rooted in Virgil’s stubborn mind, which was an impressive feat as is, but Virgil seems willing to cement it further and further! 

“Especially since you just spent all that time putting away groceries,” Janus continues, as he stalks closer to Virgil, and slips his arms around Virgil’s waist from behind. He settles his chin on Virgil’s shoulder, and shamelessly lets his hands wander across Virgil’s front - from his borrowed shirt to his waistband. 

“Speaking of groceries,” Janus then murmurs, lips brushing against Virgil’s earlobe, “you’re almost done putting them away! There’s just a few bags left! You’re so helpful… and so obedient. Do you like being helpful and obedient?” 

Virgil snickers, and playfully responds “not for you.” 

That makes Janus laugh, shaking his head slightly as he wiggles Virgil back and forth. “Still a little spitfire, I see? I quite like that. Even when making you happier, you still like to be a little tease.” 

Chuckling, Virgil turns in Janus’s arms, guiding his own hands over Janus’s shoulders to squeeze them and keep them closer, as he repeats “tease?” clearly amused by the descriptor. His affection is clearly induced by Janus’s words, but it has Janus grinning nonetheless. The way Virgil leans against him is almost ditzy in nature, and has Janus shaking his head. 

“I don’t think I should have you put away the rest of the groceries,” he comments, which has Virgil giggling as he’s kept in a firm embrace. 

“Why? Am I not doing good enough?” Virgil responds, and though his words are playful, that too surprises Janus. Was that… insecurity? Creeping in through Virgil’s more lax demeanor? The playfulness can be easily attributed to how Virgil is when he’s more relaxed - Janus can easily picture his snarky banter given a lighter tone when messing with one of the others - but those words felt… different. 

Janus raises an eyebrow. “I think you were doing lovely, my dear, it’s just that I’ve been itching to give you a reward since you started, and I simply can’t wait for you to finish.” 

Though Virgil smiles and blushes, Janus doesn’t miss the uncertainty that flickers briefly in his dark brown eyes. 

So, Janus asks in a sing-song voice, “do you know who else couldn’t possibly wait for you to slave away putting away groceries? Do you? Go on and guess, sweetheart.” 

Virgil smiles happily. “Patton?” 

“That’s right. Patton. And if I had you finish up in here, it’d be even longer before you saw him! Do you really want to wait that long?” 

Virgil snorts, and shakes his head, still smiling wide. “Hell no!” 

Janus smiles in response, and has to turn away to chuckle, before guiding Virgil a few steps until he’s pinned back against the fridge. “Let me give you a nice treat,” he says, as he slides his hands over Virgil’s waistband, undoing his pants and pulling them down. Virgil goes dark red at the action - a lot more vulnerability and embarrassment than he displayed the first time around. “A sweet reward for being so happy, and giggly, and obedient. You are happy, and giggly, and obedient, aren’t you?” 

“Mhmm,” Virgil nods, as Janus pulls his cock out. “I’m happy and giggly and affectionate.” 

“And obedient,” Janus adds. 

“And obedient,” Virgil affirms. 

Smiling, Janus responds “yes you are. Still a bit of a hellion though, but I suppose nobody’s perfect.” He wraps his fine hand around Virgil’s shaft - around the mid point - while resting his bandaged hand on Virgil’s hip. “I could just walk you through another thick and deep induction and completely scrub away a bit of that brattiness, but I honestly find it rather endearing. You’d be no fun if you weren’t… well… you.” 

Virgil laughs as he shifts his hips, and then a soft moan escapes him. “Are you incapable of giving me a compliment unless it’s backhanded?” he asks, licking his smiling lips. 

“Do you think you deserve compliments any other way?” 

Giggling, Virgil’s hand rests on the back of Janus’s neck, unintentionally pulling him closer. “Doesn’t matter if I do. I wouldn’t want ‘em from someone like you anyway.” Virgil lowers his chin, but keeps his eyes positioned upward, in a sly, teasing manner. He’s testing the waters, and doing it in such a way that Janus wants to bite his lips and tear away the smug upturn of his mouth. 

“You’ve got a lot of spunk,” Janus murmurs. “It’s cute. When you’re not throwing things, at least.” 

Virgil laughs again, but Janus quickly interrupts his happiness with a firm squeeze around Virgil’s cock, making Virgil arch his back off the fridge and moan loudly. His fingers dig into Janus’s shoulders, and Janus holds his waist tighter in response. 

“This is your treat,” he explains, as he presses his lips to Virgil’s hairline. “But you have to work for it. I’m not going to do everything, after all. I have to conserve my energy, unless you want me to feed again so soon.” 

Virgil looks down at Janus’s hand. “What am I supposed to do?” 

“It’s a fist, isn’t it? Just tight enough to feel good around you, but loose enough that you’re not restrained. You’re supposed to hump, of course. Treat my fist like it’s a toy. I’m sure you’re familiar with those.” 

Chuckling, Virgil responds “you have no idea,” but his body obediently begins moving anyway. With a soft groan, Virgil bucks his hips against Janus’s hand, sliding his cock between Janus’s wrapped fingers. It’s similar to fucking a dryer cocksleeve, but Virgil doesn’t have the mind to complain. Instead, he lets out a shameless moan, and leans against Janus as he moves, relying on him completely to keep him upright and balanced. 

It’s a foreign feeling on Janus’s end - being solely responsible for someone else in such an intimate situation. He could step back and Virgil could crumble. He could have watched Patton crumble when he sucked the blood from him, too, but that situation was different. He was woozy from the bloodloss; he was impaired the way a drunk would be. But Virgil was entranced. His balance was offset because Janus wanted it so. His reliance is a byproduct of the mantra he mumbles softly into Janus’s ear. It’s completely fabricated. It’s completely fake. Virgil still hates him, and Janus would expect nothing less from him, it’s just that in this state of mind he craves happiness and pleasure and touch. 

“You’re about to fall over,” Janus whispers, and Virgil laughs. Virgil would laugh at anything like this. Janus isn’t so amused anymore. Instead… his chest tightens in an awfully human manner. 

“Good thing you’re here to keep me straight,” Virgil gasps, as his hips thrust forward, grinding against the ridges and bumps of Janus’s hands, smearing pre in the crevices of his folded digits. “Or, well, as straight as I could be.” 

“Funny little thing, you are.” 

Giggling, drool begins to seep out of Virgil’s grinning mouth and against Janus’s front, which Virgil’s clinging to. “I’m funny?” he snorts, a mixture of laughter and noises of pleasure fighting to escape his mouth. His hips move quicker as he fucks Janus’s hand with little restraint, not having the mindfulness to even try and hold himself back. “You should look in the mirror.” 

Janus’s hand pulses with pain. “Hah. Was that a joke?” 

“You’re a joke!” 

With no restraint whatsoever, Janus’s hands are both finding Virgil’s hips and roughly slamming them back against the fridge. Virgil makes a little noise of pain, and then looks dazed, as he begins mindlessly echoing “I’m happy, and giggly, and affectionate, and obedient. I’m happy, and giggly, and affectionate, and obedient.” 

“You also find some way to annoy me, even with half your mind turned to mush,” Janus says, tapping his foot impatiently on the ground as he searches Virgil’s eyes for… something. He doesn’t mean his words in the slightest, however. Virgil was entertaining him, there was just… something… eating at him. 

“I’m happy, and giggly, and affectionate, and obedient.” 

“Yes, yes, you are. And you’re a perfect happy, giggly, affectionate, and obedient doll. How are you feeling?” 

Though Virgil’s smiling, he still immediately responds with an honest “scared.” 

Janus rolls his eyes, though his injured hand clenches, making him hiss slightly in momentary discomfort. “Not subconsciously,” he clarifies. “How are you feeling physically?” 

“Good.” 

Reaching out, Janus gently thumbs away the hair obscuring Virgil’s eyes. His knuckles softly graze Virgil’s pale cheeks, coloured only by his dark flush and specks from the eyeshadow he was wearing when he first arrived. His skin is oily, and Janus traces his face down to his jaw, which he grabs and tilts upwards. He steps even closer, keeping their bodies close, while keeping Virgil trapped against the fridge. 

Slowly, his hand once again wraps around Virgil’s cock. “Keep going, my dear. I didn’t mean to startle you. You’re doing so good! If you feel good, you’re doing good. Can you repeat that for me?” 

“If I feel good, I’m doing good.” 

Janus smiles. It’s smaller, and softer, and it makes Virgil smile in turn, as his hands return to Janus’s body, desperate for them to be intimate in some shape or form. 

“And you’re happy?” 

“I’m happy.” 

“And giggly?” 

Virgil giggles. “I’m giggly.” 

“And affectionate?”

“I’m affectionate.”

“And obedient?” 

Virgil laughs, and teeters on his feet. “I’m obedient.” 

“Good job, my spitfire. Hump. Go on. Your reward’s right there for the taking.” Janus leans their faces close, and feels Virgil’s breath hitch. He then feels Virgil’s hips start to move again, dragging his cock against Janus’s slick fingers, and moaning at the feeling. Occasionally, Janus even squeezes his shaft to give him a bit of motivation. 

Then, he’s very gently slotting their lips together. Virgil doesn’t react with much more than a moan, letting Janus do as he pleases in his obedient state, but Janus doesn’t care. He kisses Virgil until Virgil breaks away to catch his breath, and then catches his lips as soon as he has air, which he gently bites down and tugs on, playing with Virgil’s mouth as if he’s obsessed with it, the remarks it makes, and the expressions it displays. Virgil’s noises are possessively swallowed down by Janus, who chases Virgil’s lips whenever he pulls away to gasp or breathe. 

“My name is Janus,” Janus says, in a hushed voice. “Say it. Say my name.” 

“Janus,” Virgil moans, before giggling softly, though his laughter comes between pants of pleasure. “You definitely have an old sounding name.” 

Janus chuckles, and mumbles against Virgil’s lips “watch yourself,” before he’s kissing Virgil again, as if he can’t keep himself away. After all, tasting Virgil’s blood on his lips from where they’ve been cut by his fangs was a great distraction from the pit in his stomach. 

Virgil’s hips stutter against Janus’s hand, and he’s letting out a higher pitched moan from the rest. 

“Janus,” he gasps, and Janus’s hand squeezes around Virgil’s cock in response, though he doesn’t move to help him get off. Instead, he watches sweat bead up on Virgil’s forehead and roll down the length of his flushed face as he’s forced to work for his pleasure. Perhaps if he was less of a brat, Janus would consider making this easy, but in Virgil’s ditzy state of mind, he doesn’t really care what he’s given, as long as it feels good. 

“Does it feel good?” Janus asks. 

“It does,” Virgil groans, before echoing “if I feel good, then I’m doing good.” 

“Good spitfire. Your voice sounds beautiful when it’s saying sweet things, such as your mantras, and my name.” 

“Janus,” Virgil whimpers, as his head suddenly falls forward. He’s trembling as he moves his hips, fucking Janus’s fist on shaky legs. His face falls against Janus’s shoulder, and Janus can hear Virgil let out a soft laugh as he gives short, needy thrusts into Janus’s fingers. 

His movements are sloppy and needy, and Janus can practically smell his desperation. 

Virgil pants against Janus’s neck as he moves, and Janus can tell his orgasm is rapidly approaching. But as Virgil reaches his peak, he whines, and suddenly looks towards Janus with wide, surprised eyes. 

“I can’t… I can’t-” 

Janus chuckles at his naivety. “You can’t come? Of course you can’t, pet. You’re obedient, remember?” 

“I’m happy, and giggly, and affectionate, and obedient.” 

“And that obedience means you will do as I say. If I tell you to deny yourself pleasure, you shall. If I tell you to cry for me, you shall. And if I tell you to beg for my generosity, then you will.” 

“Janus,” Virgil starts, sharply taking in air when Janus squeezes his shaft. 

“Beg, my spitfire. Convince me as to why I should give you the privilege of relief when you’ve been nothing but an argumentative, snarky, misbehaved brat.” 

“I- I-” Virgil interrupts himself with laughter. “I don’t know!” 

“Hmph. No excuses.” 

Virgil chews on his bottom lip, moaning drearily when he tastes his own blood from where Janus had been biting. “I’m… I’m happy…” 

“You are now. What else?” 

“I’m…” Virgil giggles, and then pushes himself against Janus, moaning against Janus’s neck. “I’m giggly and affectionate.” His hands push against Janus, grabbing him and keeping him close as his hips jerk messily over Janus’s fingers. 

Janus puts on an unconvinced look. “Is that all?” 

Virgil’s blunt nails dig into the black fabric of Janus’s clothes. He lets out a rather needy cry, before whining “please, Janus? Please, please? I’m… I’m obedient. I’m obedient. I’m obedient.” 

He says it over and over and over, his body unable to bend to his desires, and his mind willingly complying with Janus’s influence, leaving him needy and straining. “Please!” he begs, before his mantra continues, causing a smile to grace Janus’s lips as Virgil’s words ring like music in his ears. A much nicer sound than his earlier shrieking. 

Janus lets him say it for a minute or so, drinking in his desperation like fresh blood, before his lips connect with Virgil’s glistening brow. “Come for me, my spitfire,” he says, and Virgil does immediately, as if he truly had no control in the matter. 

His cries of pleasure are muffled as he pushes his face into Janus’s shoulder, holding to him with such reliance that Janus nearly stumbles and falls as Virgil’s load spills across his fingers and pants. And though Janus grimaces, he supposes this is partially a mess of his own making, and so represses his sigh as Virgil rides out an orgasm that’s pulled from him wave by wave. 

When he’s fully finished, Janus guides his dazed figure to be resting back against the fridge, before holding his hand up. 

“Clean up your mess, my dear,” he instructs, and Virgil lets out a soft snicker before leaning forward to obediently do so. 

His tongue drags between each of Janus’s fingers, scooping up his own salty mess with his wet tongue, and sucking Janus’s fingers clean when they’re pushed into his mouth. Just for fun, Janus jabs his fingers back in Virgil’s mouth, and grins at the harsh gag and teary eyes he gets in response, though Virgil moans as well. Cute. 

Once he pulls his fingers out, and throws a rag to the floor with disinterest to lazily wipe up the few drops that landed on the tile with his foot, Janus raises his hand to Virgil’s face. 

“Now, I’m going to count back from five,” he says, and muses at the fact Virgil gives him his complete attention. “With each descending number, you’re going to feel more and more tired, as you creep closer to a nice and deep tranced state. You’ll feel relaxed, and calm, and good. And when I snap my fingers, you will be released from my influence, with your mind fully intact and your memory unaltered. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Virgil breathes. “Yes, Janus.” 

Janus feels a shiver run down his spine at the soft way Virgil breathes his name. He shakes away the distraction, and wiggles his fingers. 

“Five,” he starts, and Virgil stares at his hand. Though he’s leaning back against the fridge, he’s not fully slumped against it. It’s just there for him to use if need be. 

“Four.” Virgil blinks. He feels a wave of heaviness begin to press on his body. He blinks again, and his eyes stay shut for longer this time. He laughs softly, and he rocks softly on his feet. 

“Three.” Licking his dry lips, Virgil finds it hard to focus on Janus’s fingers. Though he can’t pull his eyes away, he feels his eyelids getting heavier and harder to keep peeled open. He lets out a soft noise that has Janus smiling at him, and he’s smiling right back, even if his mind is too cloudy to truly understand what’s going on. 

“Two.” Virgil leans fully against the fridge now, as his legs threaten to give out. 

“One.” Virgil’s eyes are barely open, drool spills down his chin, and he’s dizzy and hazy. He can’t speak, can’t think, and feels completely lax and lazy in the most blissful way possible. 

Janus’s hand curls into a fist, and then he’s snapping, causing Virgil’s knees to rather harshly hit the ground. He lets out a grunt of pain as his head falls, hanging down between his knuckles which are braced against the floor, before he’s shouting and quickly scrambling to put his cock away and zip his jeans back up. Janus laughs at his priorities. 

“You-” Virgil starts, turning to Janus with an embarrassed face and a seething expression, but Janus promptly cuts him off. 

“Oh, come on,” Janus responds, dismissively waving his hand. “It got you out of putting away groceries.”

“I’ll kill you!” 

Rolling his eyes, Janus mutters “so you’ve said.” He offers his hand for Virgil to take but Virgil slaps it away and stands on his own. He looks about ready to brawl, but Janus knows he wouldn’t dare. 

“You know, I think I liked you better when you were a happy little doll,” he lies, and Virgil bristles at his quip. 

 “Die,” Virgil hisses, and goes to stomp off while wiping his mouth feverishly with his hands, though Janus catches him by the wrist before he can even get a few steps away. 

He moves quickly to Virgil’s side, and though Virgil immediately goes to thrash again, Janus quickly quells him with “you wanted to see Patton, remember?” His words have Virgil’s eyes going wide, and him looking guilty immediately, realizing that his quick-tempered reaction of stomping off angrily wasn’t going to lead him to his lover. “I don’t think you’d manage to find him while sulking around my corridors.” 

“Whatever.” Virgil still pulls his hand away from Janus’s hold, and crosses his arms over his chest, though he looks towards Virgil expectantly. 

Janus begins leading him away. “You did say you’d do anything,” he says, which has Virgil scoffing. 

“You technically had me do two things. And I didn’t even get to finish the first one, thanks to you.” 

Shooting him a toothy grin, Janus asks “well, would you like to go back and put away the rest of the groceries?” which has Virgil shutting his mouth and quickly shaking his head no. “That’s what I thought. You were done much faster this way, and whether you want to admit it or not, you feel more relaxed after my help.” 

“‘Help?’” Virgil repeats, though nothing more is said on the subject. 

Janus moves slowly through the halls as they near Patton’s temporary room, though Janus lingers outside of it. He stares at the door, and Virgil stares at him. 

“Well?” Virgil huffs, impatient. “Open it.” 

“Don’t be demanding,” Janus scolds him, as his injured hand subtly curls into a fist at his side, “it’s rather rude.” 

Virgil glares at him, but seems to soften when Janus turns the doorknob. He stands closer to Janus than he ever has willingly in order to peer over his shoulder. He lets out a shaky, concerned breath when he’s met with only darkness, barely allowing him to see past the glowing rectangle of light that beams in through the hallway. 

“I thought…” Virgil starts, but Janus interrupts him. 

“He’s in here,” he mumbles, and steps inside. He blinks a few times, but he’s sure his vision is much worse than Virgil’s is. So, he clicks his tongue, and feels the noise bounce around the room. Then, he grabs Virgil’s hand and skillfully guides him through the pitch black space, until he’s pushing Virgil down. Virgil almost goes to shout at him, before he lands quickly on a bed. 

His landing causes a gasp to ring out into the darkness, and the noise of movement followed by a sudden “who’s there?! Janus…?” 

“Patton!” Virgil exclaims immediately, as he reaches beside him, towards where the noise is the loudest. 

Janus, meanwhile, clicks his tongue again, and then heads towards the back wall. He slowly turns a dial, and the wall-mounted gas lamp he was messing with begins to brighten, gifting them all with the ability to see. 

“There we go,” Janus proudly says, before giving both Patton and Virgil a closed mouth smile. One of his feet lifts to scratch his calf. “Not all of my rooms are lucky enough to be up-to-date. This is unfortunately a rather old-fashioned one.” 

Virgil and Patton are cuddled close to each other, having found each other regardless and held on tight. Though, while Virgil keeps his face tucked into Patton’s neck, Patton looks towards Janus with wide eyes that carry noticeable guilt and sadness. His cheeks are red, and his eyes are puffy.

“Janus…” Patton starts, his voice rather rasp, but Janus’s eyes narrow, and Patton is quickly pressing his lips together instead. 

Slowly, Patton’s arms wrap tighter around Virgil, and he tears his eyes away from Janus so he can give his lover all of his attention. “What’s that thing on your nose? Are you okay?” is the first thing he whispers to Virgil, which has Virgil shakily whispering back “I should be asking you that.” And Janus feels that face guttural discomfort. So, he leaves. 

He’s sure they hear him do so, but he doesn’t spare them another glance as he shuts the door behind them, and instead just stands in the hallway outside. His bandaged hand tingles, burning with pain, but it’s not as bad as it was yesterday. He wiggles the fingers on that side, and has to admit not feeling his skin pull and shift with each movement is nice. What Virgil did was… nice. 

Unsure of how to feel, Janus chooses not to feel anything, and pushes the interaction to the pack of his mind as he strolls down the hall. However, Janus quickly finds that his calf hurts more than his hand at this point - supposedly thanks to the salve rubbed into his hand, and simultaneously thanks to how often he’d been on his feet - and so he decides to retreat to his bedroom, which he’d rarely been in since the arrival of his intruders.

As soon as he’s in the privacy of his chamber, he’s sitting on the edge of his bed and pulling his pant leg up, hissing when small fibers from his clothing get stuck in his red skin. 

“Fuck,” he curses, seemingly having mistaken the severity of his leg injury. Though nowhere near as broiled as his fingers, it’s still noticeably burnt. And though it peels like a meager sunburnt, it feels much worse.