A/N: Everyone in this story is over 18. The story involves one character brainwashing his two housemates into a sexual relationship with him and as such, they cannot consent. These elements are fictional. The hypnotist is a bisexual male seducing a straight male and a female via this hypnosis, so there will be (coerced) m/m sex as well as (coerced) m/f sex. If any of this doesn't tickle your pickle, here's your chance to back button out.
I haven't yet decided if I'm going to continue with this or not. I may, if the fancy strikes. Happy to hear suggestions for where to take them, but no promises that those suggestions will be incorporated. The muse is a fickle beast.
#
Fielding hated the way his housemates treated him. They weren't cruel or spiteful. Instead, they existed around him, effectively treating him as though he wasn't there at all. He'd lived with them for eight months now, and his frustration with being the embarrassing secret kept tucked away in the back of the house was growing.
Today, he lurked in his bedroom, considering his plan. It was a large bedroom, which suited him perfectly. No wonder he spent most of his time in here instead of out there, with them. Fielding had selected this room particularly when they'd moved in, loving the small air conditioner that pumped cold air in even if his selfish housemates would rather heat the rest of the building, and the lack of windows that gave him the privacy he deserved. He'd filled the room with a large TV against one wall with a long couch that faced it, his desk and computer against another wall where he worked, and his huge bed which he was, always, alone in.
Well.
Fielding smiled.
He turned to face the final wall, which he'd lined with mirrors reflecting the TV, the back of the couch, and capturing the bed in its entirety. His room was a stage. He'd designed it for one performance in particular. And it was almost opening night.
He was a man of average height but, as far as he was concerned, above-average looks. He'd dressed with care for today, unwilling to leave anything to chance. The slim-fit black slacks he wore clung tight to his thin hips and pert ass, the fabric tight over his crotch. A grey belt provided a neat line of contrast between them and his satin button-down, dark blue. He'd even ruffled his hair -- dark brown -- into an artful mess that fell over his high brows and green eyes. His was a narrow face with a sly, pouting mouth. He worked hard to maintain an image of cunning indifference. It served him well to drive people away, as Fielding had no interest in maintaining relationships with other humans. He couldn't see the point. He had his work -- what could another human offer him that his work couldn't?
At least, that's what he'd believed, until eight months ago when he'd moved in with Neal and Bee, and been viscerally reminded of his human body and human desires. For the first time in his life forced into the messy, unsatisfying dance of trying to draw other people to his side and, perhaps -- though his cheeks flushed with heat at the very idea -- his bed.
Fielding was twenty-six years old and he'd never kissed another person, never flirted, never had sex. Never desired any of it. He'd gone to college at thirteen and emerged at twenty-five with more degrees than he needed, in computer science, in human psychology, in behavioural science, in English literature, among others. He had a PhD. He had a thriving business programming training software for various large companies to use to induct new hires and upskill old employees. And he had two housemates that he hated, loathed, reviled, desired.
Fielding hated the way his housemates treated him; tonight, that was going to change.
#
Neal barely had the energy to poke the boiling spaghetti with his fork, lurking moodily over the pot as he waited for it to be done so he could eat. After a long shift at the hospital where he was a resident, he just wanted to eat his food and collapse into bed. Even his housemate and friend, Bee, chattering brightly at him wasn't enough to keep his eyes from spending longer and longer closed every time he blinked. If his dinner didn't hurry up, he was going to fall asleep right into it.
"Oh for crying out loud," said Bee, snorting a laugh at him as she came up and bumped him out of the way with her hip, taking his fork as she went. "Go sit down, beanpole. You're going to burn yourself."
"But it's my food," he protested without much commitment to the cause.
She raised her eyebrows at him; smartly, he retreated to the counter and lounged onto a stool, folding his gangly self over the countertop as he watched her work. Appreciating, without heat, the soft, round shape of her body in a vaguely pleased way that reminded him it had been a long time since he'd had the energy to fire up Tinder and get himself laid.
Neal, though he'd never slept with Bee or tried to, thought that she was really quite stunning. Too young for him to do much more than appreciate, however, seeing as she was a friend of his younger sister, twenty to his twenty-seven. Still, he had eyes, and even though he'd known her since she was a kid racing his brat sister around, she'd grown up nicely in the time he'd been away from home at med school. He'd always been a sucker for her particular combination of large hips and a bust to match, with huge dark eyes to drown in and messy black hair she barely kept under control by winding it into a sloppy bun. Now, dressed in one of his oversized band shirts -- it was laundry day -- and tight, tight leggings, he'd have to be blind not to look. Respectfully.
He himself was nothing special, he well knew. Just med school's particular brand of tall and skinny that only came from an entirely coffee and stress fuelled lifestyle. His brown hair, which was his one vanity even though it was already beginning to grey at the temples, was long and tied back. Lanky legs made it difficult for him to slouch effectively over the counter, so he stuck them out into the walkway instead, ignoring how Bee rolled her eyes at him turning himself into a tripping hazard. He was the only one in the house who wore glasses, which he propped crookedly onto a too-long nose. His grey eyes blinked sleepily behind them.
He was thinking how even if he'd wanted to sleep with Bee, he'd hardly have been a catch for her with his hair still damp from a post-work shower, his heavy bags under his eyes, and his baggy sweatpants under a worn-thin tee, when Fielding slipped out of his room and stood awkwardly in the doorway, eyes on them.
"Hullo," said Neal, glancing to their reclusive third housemate. They'd brought him in to help pay the bills and, while he didn't talk much, Neal liked him well enough. Bee didn't. She said he was difficult to talk to; Neal, who'd been shy since the womb, could relate. "How's things?"
Fielding stared at him. "Pardon?" he asked, looking baffled.
Neal corrected himself: Fielding could be difficult to talk to, but just because people were difficult didn't mean they weren't worth the effort.
"He means how are you," Bee said, clattering over the sink as she strained Neal's spaghetti for him. "We haven't seen you for days. How's the cave?"
Fielding stared at her, blushing and, apparently, speechless. Not for the first time, Neal wondered if the man had a crush on Bee, which would go a long way to explaining why he never managed to string a sensible sentence together around her. Then again, he was pretty shit at talking to Neal too, so maybe it was just a character trait.
Though he was straight, Neal could appreciate that Fielding was attractive in a kind of wish-it-were-me way. It annoyed him that he couldn't be so nonchalantly good-looking, though Neal liked to think he had charm that Fielding didn't. If that was any consolation to Bee.
Judging from the small smirk on her face, he doubted it.
"Be nice," Neal whispered to her when she came over to drop his spaghetti and re-heated pasta-and-meat sauce in front of him. It wasn't grand cuisine. He inhaled it anyway after a rapid, "Thanks," that she grinned at. In his normal voice, between bites, he asked, "So, Fielding, plans for the night? You're dressed up. Must be a hot date."
