Brought to Heel

Staring at the mess Eon had left on the floor wasn't going to make it any cleaner. Conall unsteadily rose to his feet, biting his lip when he felt his hard-on rub against his underwear with every movement. He looked down. There was a wet spot on the front of his trousers. Just as well he hadn't stood up in front of Eon. He didn't know how he would have reacted if they'd looked at him and

commented

on it.

Awkwardly Conall walked over to his office door, glanced out, and closed it. The hallway beyond was completely empty, however they managed that vanishing trick. Metahuman bullshit, maybe. Thank goodness he hadn't heard of any of the metahumans in containment in Phi-2 being capable of doing the same; it would have made any attempt to revise the containment procedures completely pointless. Conall went to the cupboard where he knew the cleaning staff left supplies. Plastic bags, disposable gloves, disinfectant spray, a roll of paper towel... That should do.

He put on some gloves and gingerly shoved the chair cushion in the plastic bag. It was soaked. With his face hot, he sprayed and wiped down the entire wooden chair. There was nothing he could do about the scratches left on the armrests, but having an antique chair in an office had been a bad idea anyway.

The floor... There was a lot to clean. He did his best not to think too hard about

what

he was cleaning. Most of it he wiped up with some paper towel before at all bothering to start spraying disinfectant. The used towels went carefully into the plastic bag. There were probably more precautions he should have been taking, but he wasn't about to tell the team that dealt with metahuman clean-ups that he let one nut all over his office floor.

Standing once he was done scrubbing the floor made it clear that his other 'problem' hadn't gone away. It seemed somehow

unfair

that he hadn't gotten any less hard while cleaning ejaculate off his office floor. Shame-faced, Conall peeled off the disposable gloves and chucked them into the plastic bag, then put on another pair before picking up the bag itself. Couldn't be too careful, in case anything had gotten on it.

After sticking his head out the office door and making sure the hallway was empty, Conall strode to the bathroom as quickly as he could while still looking unhurried.

Nobody in there. Thank fuck. He chucked the plastic bag and its questionable contents into the bin next to the sink. Then the gloves. Then he washed his hands for good measure. Then he locked himself into a stall.

He was still mercilessly hard. As he unzipped his slacks and pulled down his underwear, he bit the inside of his cheek to not make a sound. God, he was really about to do this. Jerking off in the bathroom stall. It wasn't like it never happened onsite - he knew some researchers let off steam that way, hooked up with each other, whatever - it was a part of working in a facility where many of the research subjects were extremely fucking horny all the time - but he'd always thought he was above that himself. Conall took a shaky breath. Apparently not.

Apparently he'd just never had a metahuman narrate their self-seduction for him before.

Apparently

that was all it took to make him the kind of person who masturbated at work.

He palmed his erection and tried not to whimper, legs going weak at even that simple touch. Fuck, he was in a bad way if

that

affected him so much. Bracing his other arm against the stall door, he rolled his thumb over the head of his cock and coaxed more pre out, spreading it so he wasn't jerking off dry. His mouth kept wanting to fall open to pant and moan. He clenched his jaw and started to move his hand.

It was all because of Eon that he was such a mess. Eon... Oh fuck, the way they moaned his name. That had no right to be as hot as it was. His dick twitched at the memory. He swallowed another moan and sped up.

'Con - Conall.'

He couldn't stop thinking about it. He could picture exactly how their eyes had rolled back and their tongue lolled out as they came. And his name, the way they said his name. It was so fresh in his mind he could hear it as if they were in the room with him. It looped in his mind over and over as he chased his peak.

'Conall.'

It was almost embarrassing how close he was already. He dug the nails of his free hand into the paint on the bathroom door.

That brought him back a little to where he was. If he came like this, it would end up all over the door. Shit. He turned around unsteadily and braced himself on the cistern instead, aiming for the toilet bowl. Not exactly glamorous but his hard-on didn't care so neither did he.

'Conall. Conall. Conall!'

Why

did they have to say his name? It was going to turn up in his dreams, play on loop in his fantasies. It felt too good to have someone call his name like that after so long, way too good. Too good having

Eon

call his name like that. His stomach clenched with arousal, and he took a harsh little breath. Almost.

Fuck, what if they saw him like this.

Fuck.

'Oh, Conall,'

they'd purr, voice throaty with arousal. He closed his eyes and imagined their expression, their piercing eyes looking down on him, sharp and satisfied at seeing his lack of restraint.

'Good boy.'

Good boy, Conall.

It was a line of lightning down his spine. His hips jerked forward. His knees went weak. Just like that he came, with a silent cry of 'Eon' on his lips.

His higher thought checked out of the building, leaving him mindlessly fucking his own hand. It felt good. No thinking, just touching himself. He kept going until there was nothing left and it got too uncomfortable. The warm thick clouds over his mind started to dissipate.

Conall's chest heaved as he came to his senses and opened his eyes to look at the toilet bowl. Eugh, he'd gotten some on the seat.

Mechanically he grabbed some toilet roll and wiped it off, chucked it in the bowl, then sprayed some toilet seat cleaner on a tissue and gave the whole seat a wipe down. His brain was starting to catch up with his body by the time he was done.

Did he really just... He really did just jerk off to the thought of his

former colleague

turned

metahuman

. God. That was definitely crossing some sort of line.

He couldn't deny that it felt good, but it was crossing a line.

Not, not with Eon, it was pretty clear they wouldn't mind (he thought of

his name on their lips as they came

). Hell, they'd probably even find it flattering. But it was a line he didn't even know he had. Or known he'd needed in the first place. And he'd crossed it.

He wasn't going to think about Eon next time. He just wasn't. And he definitely needed to avoid meeting them in person again.

Fuck, maybe if he had taken Oskar up on his offer this wouldn't have happened. Conall wouldn't have been all pent-up, and he could have reacted normally to Eon's whole... Thing. Even as he thought it, Conall still didn't feel right about the idea of fucking someone who was technically his employee. So that was a complete non-starter.

There had to be some way for Conall to ensure that he'd be more. Normal. In how he thought about Eon in the future. He'd figure it out.

As he washed his hands, he resolved that what had happened was a fluke. Conall was not the kind of person who jerked off at work.

-

It was a challenge to email Eon and

not

think about what happened the day before.

It was a lot simpler to not

mention

what happened, despite Conall having a lingering paranoia that they'd somehow know what he'd done after they left. Although, perhaps paranoia wasn't quite the right word; it was a complicated feeling, and Conall didn't want to examine too closely what else was tangled up with it. In the end he fell back on social niceties to get him through the minor ordeal that was trying to sound casual while sending an email to someone he'd so recently had 'thoughts' about.

"Dear Eon,

I wanted to thank you for taking the time to elaborate on your part in events and your perspective on Epsilon-1's loss to metahuman influence. (Of course you wouldn't consider it a 'loss', but to Orpheus it undoubtedly is.) While your visit was highly unexpected, it was -"

Conall stared into space, struggling to find a word that had no sexual implications.

"- illuminating, I must say. It has definitely given me some points to consider in terms of the security of my site."

Or it

would

, if Conall could stop his mind wandering every single time he tried to remember anything in specific which Eon had said.

"Again, I have to offer my gratitude for providing such valuable information, despite it running counter to your goals."

Frankly, Conall had his doubts about that, even if he said it to be polite - it had to be some sort of a plot that he couldn't figure out. They

were

a demonic metahuman, if appearances were anything to go by. It would be stranger if there wasn't any kind of trickery involved. He simply didn't know what the trick was yet.

Alright, time to steer back to safer waters.

"Now that I have some time in the evenings again, are there any particular movies you would recommend? Or favourites, perhaps. You've mentioned a fair few but it's hard to know where to start.

Kind regards,

Conall"

It was short, but he had managed to sound relatively normal in the email so he called it a success and then sat at his computer and tried to bend his thoughts in a useful direction that was unrelated to his or anyone else's dick.

There was something that had bothered him about Eon's story, if only he could remember what it was. It was hard not to get distracted recalling the more salacious aspects. Even how Eon's tone of voice had woven through the description of the less 'exciting' parts in an eager, sensual way made it difficult to keep a clear head about those details.

If he could just clear his mind enough to focus on the content and not the delivery of it. Perhaps if he wore himself out, he'd be able to consider what they'd said more dispassionately once the endorphins had worn off. It was called post-nut clarity after all.

Not tonight, though... Not so soon after emailing Eon. If he did it so soon, his thoughts would definitely wander back to them. That felt

dangerous

.

-

Trying not to blink for an entire day would be easier than trying not to think of his former colleague getting off right in front of his eyes.

It was terribly distracting. Conall would be sitting at his desk working, and then glance up from his computer and recall that he'd sat in the exact same place while Eon sat across from him. He'd swapped out the visitor's chair with a more modern one, placing the other one in a store room where the scratches on the armrests couldn't taunt him, but that hadn't done much to dampen the memory from only a few days before.

So he had to muddle through his work all day with an awkward boner and repeatedly will it to go away before he went to lunch or any meetings or left in the evening despite the discomfort of not showing it any attention. Then do that all over again whenever he remembered Eon moaning his name with their cock dripping all over the floor of his office. There was one way he could have made it easier on himself, but - there was no way on earth he was going to jerk off at work again, even for some temporary relief.

It made for a trying day. At least when he got home in the evening he could do something about how on edge he was.

He made sure to have dinner first. Then he sat at his computer desk, a tube of lube and a box of tissues close to hand, and did something about it. What he did was go to PornClub and, with his face burning, type 'good boy' into the search bar. The quantity of results was almost overwhelming, but he picked one that looked hot. 'Jack Orff shows his new master what a good boy he can be.'

Conall watched with quietly embarrassed lust as 'Jack' whined and wiggled his hips to make his tail plug wag back and forth, leaning into the broad hand of his master as he was promised a treat if he behaved. Neoprene pup hoods had always struck him as sort of silly, and as he pushed down his trousers and underwear that impression didn't change, but there was no denying that the whole scene made his cock hard, twitching every time those two particular words were uttered.

Good boy.

Jack's master pulled out the plug and fingered his hole before filling it roughly. Conall panted, slicking up his cock and starting to stroke himself as he watched with glazed eyes as the pup onscreen started to bounce on his master's cock, leash jangling with every motion. Conall let out a little whine as he imagined himself in the actor's place, being praised for doing good, no worries in his head except how best to please. It was easy to get absorbed in the actions on screen as he stroked his cock steadily, for once not thinking of anything except for how hot it was. As he got closer, he clenched around nothing as he imagined he was the one getting fucked.

It would feel so good to get filled like that. Collar tugged on, making him moan as he was told how good he was doing, how hot he looked like that, how well he took a cock. Or he could be ordered to please a master, fucking them like a good pet as they held his leash.

Conall whimpered and came into his hand with an abrupt snap forward of his hips, the rush of pleasure making him close his eyes while his computer kept playing the moans of the actors in the background. Afterwards, while he cleaned his hands and tucked himself away, he still felt a little simmer of arousal in the background. Maybe next time if he gave his prostate attention too, it would be even

more

satisfying. For now it was enough.

With a slight feeling of embarrassment tempered by his more relaxed mood, he closed the PornClub tab. Well, damn. Looks like the reason petplay never did much for him before was because he'd imagined himself on the wrong side of the leash the whole time.

Who said you couldn't learn new things about yourself in your 40s?

But he could examine that realisation more another time. He hadn't forgotten the point of jerking off in the first place. Conall took a drink of water, head a little fuzzy but mostly clear of distractions, and furrowed his brow as he tried to remember what was so off about Eon's account of events.

Thankfully he wasn't able to get hard again so soon, meaning that he could actually think. Well, sort of, after muddling through the fuzziness and the desire to go for a nap. He could at least recall what Eon had said without sliding right into arousal.

Now that he could, he realised one very odd thing - in Eon's entire account, they never once mentioned having had physical contact with a metahuman. They had locked their door at the first sign of a breach. Their transformation appeared to have occurred spontaneously. That was

troubling

.

Of course, they could have had some contact with a disguised metahuman earlier in the day - there was at least one in the security team, there was nothing to say that other staff hadn't also hidden their metahuman status - but the transformation didn't tend to happen from something so mundane as shaking a person's hand or brushing past them in the hallway. Or at least, not usually. Somehow, he couldn't imagine Eon succumbing so easily.

His brow furrowed as he thought about it more. What it came down to was the question of how becoming a metahuman worked - how the metamorphosis was triggered and transmitted. Being a metahuman was communicable, but it wasn't a disease, or at least Conall didn't think so. Some researchers still treated it like one and when Orpheus was founded it had been on that assumption, but in the modern day there were more than a few ideas about how any of it even worked, and no real consensus on anything except which containment strategies appeared to be effective. Minimising contact helped reduce the risk of transformation significantly, which inclined Conall to think that contact

was

necessary, either with a metahuman or a metahuman-influenced artefact, but Eon's case unsettled him.

All he could be sure of at the moment was that he needed to catch up on the state of the debate about what caused the transformation. That went right to the top of the list of tasks for the next afternoon, barring any sudden meetings Conall would need to attend. There had been a significant number of those following the fall of Epsilon-1.

-

"Contact theory." "Desire theory." "Combined theory." "Spontaneous theory."

Conall's brain was melting after reading too many research papers giving out about other research papers giving out about yet more research papers.

It would be a lot easier if the researchers who cared enough to write the things didn't seem to consist almost entirely of catty assholes who were convinced that anyone with a differing hypothesis might as well have a hole in their skull. At the very least it was easy to tell which camp the authors fell into based on which one they called a theory while they relegated the rest to the status of hypothesis or worse. He'd seen the very unacademic phrase 'cockamamie bullshit' used at least once.

The one thing that seemed to unite the vast majority of researchers was a disdain for the idea that metahuman transformation could occur spontaneously with no identifiable trigger. He'd even seen it compared to the pre-germ theory concept of miasma, and while the level of barely disguised sneering hidden behind the academic phrasing was a bit much for Conall, he did have to agree that it sounded like nonsense. People didn't transform into metahumans for

no reason

, that much was clear. There was an internal logic to it, of a sort.

What he really hoped was that the "Contact theory" was correct. He'd been operating under its assumptions all along, particularly in how he was approaching the challenge of patching his site's security, but Eon's account of events had shaken his surety in it. Not only had they apparently avoided direct contact with any metahumans, they'd placed such emphasis on the idea of

wanting

to become one. Conall recalled how they'd spoken about it and he felt a familiar shiver. He flicked his wrist with a finger to snap himself out of it. Stop thinking about

them

. Think about what it all meant. It was important.

Besides which, they could have somehow embellished their tale to unsettle him, and make him vulnerable to some sort of manipulation. How better than to sow doubt about how effective Orpheus' containment measures even were? Sure, he had watched the security footage from their office, but not all the way to the end. Who's to say they didn't

actually

open up their door after the point where he stopped watching, and simply told Conall otherwise?

It would be easy to verify. He still had access to the security footage.

But...

He really shouldn't go back and watch it again. It was already difficult enough to stop his thoughts lingering over Eon and how they looked and sounded in the midst of pleasure. He didn't need to give any more fuel to the stubborn little flame of interest he was trying to stamp out.

It didn't really matter what they did during Epsilon-1's fall. What did matter was that they were clearly trying to put him off balance, and he couldn't let that happen. Implying that the desire theory of metahuman transformation was the correct one might have been part of that, or might not have been. If only the research papers he read had helped him figure that out for sure. He was, however, better informed than he had been previously, and he had kept his head long enough to properly think through the implications of Eon's story, so he counted that as a minor victory.