#ummmm...

"Kneel," Janus says. It's dim in the room. Light flickering from various candles and from the single lonesome lamp in the corner. They cast orange and yellow hues onto the floor.

The way Logan collapses to the ground is amusing. His knees slam hard against the wood flooring. He sways, slightly, staring up at Janus, awaiting his next task. Listen, obey, listen, obey-- those words repeat in his head. Janus feels the corner of his lips quirk up. He loves seeing Logan compliant for him. Light shines across Logan's face, basking him in yellow.

"Good boy," Janus purrs. He waves a dismissive hand, turning to his side to lift up his weapon-- it's a handgun. A .44 magnum. Light catches on the metal as he flicks the gun back and forth.

After dinner, the rest of the sides had all ran to hide in their rooms, while Logan stayed behind to hesitantly ask Janus for some... help.

("I've been researching into hypnotism and the fetish itself," Logan starts. His glabella creases as he furrows his brows in thought. "While I highly doubt it's level of success in the real world, I think it would be easier to apply to us."

Janus was busy wiping the dining table down. He didn't look up. "Us?"

"As sides, I mean."

Janus tosses the towel onto the counter and raises an eyebrow at Logan. The man runs his fingers up and down his blue tie.

"You, as the metaphysical representation of deceit, are able to control the information we reveal, quite literally." Logan gestures vaguely to Janus' hands. "Physically, you have control over our mouths. I assume mind control wouldn't be too... much of a difference..." He trails off at the end.

It was a much longer discussion. Their sexual relationship had always been a thing, even if neither of them label it, and Logan's not one to beat around the bush with what he's speaking about. Logan wanted to be hypnotised. To have Janus control his every move and thought, to do with him as he pleased.

To say Janus was excited would be an understatement.)

Janus, Janus, Janus. Logan's head is swimming. Listen, obey, comply.

The barrel of the gun points down at Logan and Logan can't control his reaction. He whines, bucking his hips and shuffling closer to his Sir. Janus laughs. Logan leans forward and presses his lips to the cool metal. He kisses it softly, eyelids fluttering.

"Aren't you pretty?" Janus coos. His free hand cards through Logan's hair. He trails his fingers down, scratching behind Logan's ears. The gun taps against Logan's mouth, once, twice. "Isn't this lovely?" He asks. He drags the barrel up Logan's face, across his flushed cheeks, up to his forehead. Logan headbutts the gun, twisting his head as he pushes against it-- bunting like a cat. Drool rolls down his chin. "Sitting here, letting me think for you, take all your thoughts away, obeying so nicely," Janus continues on, hearing Logan whimper quietly.

Janus hums. His tongue runs across his bottom lip. Logan's eyes can barely stay open. His hands are curled into fists, like little paws, pushing down against the floor.

"Where should I shoot you?" Janus asks. "I could shoot your stomach. Stick my fingers inside the wound and molest your intestines, do you think that would feel good, dear?"

Logan's hips jerk upwards.

"Or what about your chest? Shoot open your ribcage and pull your heart out of the cavity. I wonder if I could use it as a tight, little fleshlight..."

Logan moans. His hands raise to grip Janus' pant leg.

"Or... better yet," Janus purrs, "what about..." He grabs a fistful of Logan's dark curls. He tugs, hard, pulling Logan up to sit straighter and Logan's face scrunches up in pain and pleasure. Logan goes cross eyed, following the gun with his eyes as it comes to rest against the bridge of his nose. "In between those pretty little eyes of yours? Right," Janus taps once, "here."

Logan gasps.

Janus knows where he wants to shoot, though. Besides, it's not like he has to ask, with Logan in this state. The boy would follow his every direction. Even if it meant jumping off a bridge. (And isn't that an appealing idea...)

The gun drags up to the center of Logan's forehead. Janus follows a bead of sweat rolling down his hairline to his eyebrow. "I could , instead, shoot those pretty little brains out."

Logan moans, loud. He barely mumbles out a sentence, making incoherent sounds and speaking partial words.

"Put that brain of yours to rest," Janus coos, "I mean... It must be so exhausting thinking all of the time. You must be so, so tired."

Logan feels so heavy. He doesn't think that he could hold himself up without Janus. Limbs hanging loosely as he tries his best to keep his head up. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. There's quiet pitter patters against the wood beneath him, as his drool rolls down his chin and onto the floor. There's a heat in his groin and he wants to be touched, and groped, and fondled. He wants to rut against Janus' shin, or shove his hands down his pants to palm at his hard-on, but he knows better.

"No more thinking, no more worries... Don't you think you deserve that? Haven't you been so good for me, darling?" Janus grins when Logan nods. He's whimpering like a kicked puppy.

There's a bulge in Logan's pants. He's trembling under every light touch, flinching when Janus' leather boots touch his side or graze his thighs. Janus presses down on Logan's thigh, watching as he gasps and his hips twitch, but he doesn't move. Good boy. Janus can tell he wants to. Logan's mouth moves as if he's speaking, but nothing audible comes out.

"You just want to obey, don't you?" Janus smiles as he watches the way Logan's pupils widen, with slivers of brown at the edge. His eyes become hazy, sinking further and further down into the mindset Janus wants him in. "Lift up your hands."

Logan raises them easily, unwavering, as if he was a puppet being pulled by a string and Janus was his puppeteer.

"Now, take the gun, sweet thing."

Logan's panting hard as he takes the gun with shaky hands-- he almost looks like a little dog begging for a treat: sitting on his knees while he slobbers down his chin.

Janus cocks his head. "You want to kill yourself that badly?" Logan makes a pathetic little noise, bobbing his head up and down. "For me?" Janus places a hand on his chest, cooing. Logan mutters unintelligibly. He looks so out of it.

Janus hums, running his hand through Logan's hair and petting him.

"Pl-please," Logan moans out. He sounds pathetic, mouth full of spit and voice thick. His voice cracks at the end.

"Please what?"

Logan whimpers. Janus watches as his eyes squeeze shut and then open. He headbutts the gun, twisting his head to the side. "Please, I want--" He groans. His head feels hazy and his thoughts aren't connecting-- shoot, obey, Janus, listen, die-- Janus knows Logan can't really beg in this state, a mindless obedient doll, but he likes watching him struggle.

"Speak up, doll, or maybe I won't let you," Janus sighs. Really, it's a fake threat. Like, he'd ever pass up an opportunity to see Logan's corpse on his floor.

Logan whines, high pitch and needy. "Please!" He stutters out, shaking, "Please let me kill myself, please, please, please."

Janus smiles. "Well... you have been so good for me, haven't you?" Logan nods jerkily, humming. "And it'd feel so good to not think anymore, right?" Janus taps his chin. He pretends to think as Logan shivers at his feet.

Suddenly, Janus gasps in feigned shock.

"My, my, Logan!" Janus gestures to Logan's crotch. "Someone's excited. Do you want to touch yourself?" Logan sits up at that, blinking up at Janus with wide eyes. Janus hums. He runs his boots along Logan's body, enjoying how he spasms underneath his touch. He leans forward while gripping Logan's chin in his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head up.

"Well, go on, now," Janus says. He takes the gun from Logan's hands and watches as he unbuckles his pants and pulls out his little cock. It's a little over 4 inches, but it's thick, and it's cute. Precum is dripping down the side of his shaft.

Logan wraps his left hand around his cock, moaning as he squeezes lightly. He fucks into his hand quick. Janus tuts.

"Slow."

Logan immediately falters. His hand moves slower over his cock, spreading his precum and using it as lubricant. He's blinking blearily at Janus. Janus hands him the gun in his right hand. and Logan takes it carefully, pressing it up against his temple. He's moaning as he strokes himself. Panting like an overeager puppy.

Janus watches him. Watches the way he jerks himself off, slow but impatient, while biting his lips and keeping eye contact with Janus. Watches the way he start's squirming closer to his climax, hips twitching and cock throbbing. Watches the way he edges himself, squeezing his thighs together and trying to slow his movements-- but not stopping or finishing.

He didn't get permission yet.

Janus leans against the chair, swinging an arm over the back. Logan sounds entirely inconsolable. Moaning out quiet pleases mixed in with Janus' name, wheezing for air and babbles through his words. The gun is pressed hard against Logan's temple.

"Please, please," Logan cries.

Logan's breathing gets heavier, stronger. He's heaving like he ran up a flight of stairs. The gun in his hand quivers and he squeezes his eyes shut, tears running down his face. He's close, but he's stuck on the edge, awaiting Janus' command.

"Are you close?" Janus asks.

"Yes," Logan says, pleading, "please--"

"Do you want to kill yourself?"

Logan perks up at that, cock spurting out another little bead of precum. "Yes! " He nuzzles the gun in his hand, almost like he's forgotten it was even there.

Janus smiles from his spot on the chair. He trails his eyes up and down Logan's shaking body. "Cum for me."

Logan's orgasm is immediate. He thrusts upwards into his hand two times before he's cumming. He let's out a shakey gasp, almost growling. He twists his wrist under the head of his cock and moans. His cum splatters on the floor and on Janus' leather shoes.

Then,

"Pull the trigger."

Logan doesn't hesitate.

He doesn't even have to think. Not with Janus doing it for him.

His cock spurts out another rope of cum as his finger trembles over the trigger, pushing down. It's instant, the way his body collapses to the ground with a thwack. The gun clatters out of his hand onto the floor as he falls backwards. His body spasms, twitching subtly, and then stills— entirely tensed up.

Janus swallows the saliva in his mouth. Logan's cock is now embarrassingly soft, hand still wrapped around it like a joystick. Janus lets his eyes roam over Logan's body.

A puddle of blood forms around Logan's head. It trickles down his forehead and into his eyes— open and vacant. They stare off into nothing. His mouth hangs partially open with drool mixing in with his own blood. Janus can't help but touch himself through his pants. Running a hand across his crotch, palming himself, he makes a little strangled noise.

Logan looks beautiful like this.

It's a bit of a struggle getting Logan to sit back up, but this isn't Janus' first time. Janus grabs underneath his armpits, tugging and pulling, until he's slouched and pressed up against Janus' legs. His head lolls, falling near the tent in Janus' pants and the man curses. He runs a hand along Logan's pretty bullet wound: the blood staining his yellow gloves a vibrant, bright red. It's still gushing out of him. The hole definitely isn't big enough for his cock (he can barely fit 2 fingers in). He bites the ends of his gloves, tearing them off with his teeth and tossing them somewhere across the room. Logan's blood tastes metallic on his tongue through the cloth and he imagines what it would be like to tonguefuck that brain of his. What would it taste like?

His index finger prods at the hole. He carefully pushes it in, with struggle, wrestling deep into his skin and past his skull. It makes a gross squelching noise.

Janus licks his teeth. His foot taps against the floor.

"Jesus," Janus groans under his breath. His cock twitches in his pants as he pushes another finger in. He needs to be patient. Needs to be perfect. He has no reason to rush this.

The injury stretches with Janus' fingers (he's glad they're imaginary). He's basically fingering the wound at this point: curling into the wrinkles of Logan's brains and pushing up against the inside of his head.

Using the side of Logan's head as leverage, he puts his thumb underneath the wound and wraps his fingers around the inside of his skull, wedging a third finger in and pulling. He pulls, and he pulls, and he pulls. The hole squelches and oozes. Logan's skull cracks with Janus' moments.

Janus inhales deep and slow.

When he sneaks a peak at Logan's face, Logan still has that empty stare in his eyes. He sits so still. So perfect and compliant.

"Beautiful," Janus murmurs into the air.

He lets his cock spring free, unbuckling and unzipping his pants open. He takes his fingers out of the gash. Thick strands of blood quiver in the air and snap as he moves further away. His hand strokes his cock and lubes him up with the blood squirting from Logan's little head.

Janus takes a shaky breath.

The tip of his cock presses up against the hole.

His teeth grit and grind. as his cock struggles against the muscles, forcing his way inside of Logan's brains.

"You're... tight," he mutters gruffly. Logan's brains are warm and wet and tight. He bottoms out with a moan. Hips flushed with the side of Logan's head.

He flutters his eyes shut. He hasn't even gotten to fucking him yet and he's trying not to cum from the sensation alone.

"Look at what you do to me, Logan," Janus sighs, "even in death."

How long could he continue to use Logan's rotting corpse? How many times could he fuck this wound, before it deteriorates and decays? How many new wounds could he make with his body; exploring the way Logan's flesh tears under his fingers and how his bright blood gushes out of him? Would the sides even question if he's gone? Would he lay Logan's corpse on display, letting everyone watch as he defiles his toy? Sitting still, taking everything Janus gives him. Janus' thrusting becomes uneven. He barely pulls out fully before forcing his way back into Logan's head.

With a curse, Janus cums into Logan's head. His hips slam against the other man, shuttering and twitching. He hunches over him, crowding and towering over him. Hands are pulling out hair with his tight grip on Logan's curls. He's rutting against him, riding out his orgasm, panting and moaning, like a disgusting dog. Load after load pours into his skull.

He breathes, chest rising up and down.

When he does finally pull out from Logan's warm, wet hole, threads of blood and cum hanging in the air— it's hard to tell where his cum begins and where Logan's blood ends.

Janus sighs.

He leans back against his seat, running a hand through Logan's hair. He thoroughly enjoys this view: Logan's eyes as he slowly grows cold, semen and blood spilling down his face, drool running down his chin. He cradles Logan's cheek in his other hand.