Brought to Heel Ch. 06

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.

A small but vocal part of him suggested he should celebrate that victory by exploring the realisation he'd had about himself the night before. That it would be something to look forward to after work.

Well, why not? He worked hard all day, he could reward himself at night.

Once he was home and fed, he chewed his lower lip and considered watching another video on Porn Club, but quickly discarded the idea. Alright, he'd had something of an awakening watching the first one, but he was curious about his own fantasies. Not seeing someone else's acted out on screen. He'd get comfortable on his couch, touch himself and let himself meander through a few fantasies, and relax.

There was one thing he knew he wanted regardless. He'd wanted his ass filled since the - the thing where he'd imagined the back of his neck being bitten, being held down while someone rutted into him. A shiver worked its way down his spine and settled in his stomach. Up until now he'd been too tired and busy to justify bothering to prep himself when he could easily jerk off and be done with it, but he could take the time tonight. He rummaged through his nightstand and pulled out the two plain toys he owned, a douche, and some condoms for the toys so he didn't have to be arsed with cleanup after. He wasn't going to spend all night getting ready either. Just some quick prep and he could sink one of the silicone lengths into himself and touch himself and enjoy how it felt.

Once Conall felt ready, he brought a towel from the bathroom and spread it on the couch, pulse picking up in anticipation. He sat with the condom-wrapped toy at his side and spread his legs, slicked his fingers and leaned back and closed his eyes. He'd get good and relaxed first, then fill himself up. A sigh fell from his lips as he started lightly running his fingers over his cock. It was a luxury to do this at his leisure with no destination except pleasure. Or maybe he didn't allow himself to do it enough. He wished he could without feeling guilty about wasting time. But, if someone told him to, that he was good and deserved it, he'd probably be happy to obey.

His breath hitched a little and he felt himself harden. That would be nice. He could be told to touch himself and he'd be a good boy and do it. He wouldn't need to think about deserving it or having the time if someone told him he deserved it, told him to make time. If that person told him to brush his fingers up his cock, to roll back his foreskin and thumb his cockslit just like this, and to slide two fingers inside himself, just like this, he'd thoughtlessly listen and do what they said. He'd be an obedient pet. The thought made him dizzy, and his skin felt hot, tight, but pleasantly so.

God, but he wanted it so much. He could be a good boy, a good pet, an obedient pup. He pressed his fingers in deeper and whined. He wanted to be told to touch himself, and praised when he did.

If he was a pet, he would be given a collar. Conall imagined how it would feel around his neck, the comforting weight of it reminding him that he was owned. A desperate noise came from his throat. Fuck. The realisation hit him like a wave crashing against a breakwater. He wanted to be owned. The warm certainty of it, with his owner telling him how to be good for them. He would be such a good pet, reminded of that by the collar on his neck and the praise when he obeyed and the hands petting his hair. He melted into the imagined touch, stroking his cock more firmly and feeling the slide of precum against his fingers, his other hand lazily fucking in and out. His touch synchronised with the imagined warmth of a hand caressing his hair.

Conall let out a happy sigh at the idea. Warm hands pressing down on him gently as they petted him, the slightest pressure to remind him of his place. Under his owner's hands, obedient and cared for and such a good boy.

Blearily he blinked his eyes open and slid his fingers out of himself, watching with face hot and teeth pressing into his lower lip as he returned with three fingers and found it easy. He was more than relaxed enough. He couldn't remember a time when he had been this relaxed in body and mind, everything blanketed by the warmth of his fantasy.

Taking a breath, Conall shifted his hips to the angle needed to slip the dildo inside of him, poured a messy dribble of lube down it with one hand while his other still stroked his cock, and then eased it inside of him. It went in easily, too, all the way to the base, and Conall's face burned harder at his own eagerness. The comfortable weight and press of it inside of him made him clench. Small sounds slipped out of him. It was good. When he imagined being praised for how easily he took the toy, the small sounds turned into a moan. He was a good, needy pet, taking a length so easily. His hips moved on their own. He rocked up and down on the fake cock, a tingling warmth spreading through his body as the toy massaged his insides. He imagined being watched, and a voice praising him. Good boy. It went into him so easy, didn't it? What a good, eager pup. He could take more without problem. He wanted more. He stroked himself faster to the thought of being filled deeper. Of having his hole stretched. More. Of a tug of a leash against his collar, reminding him he was being watched. Good boy. In his fantasy, the voice gave him commands. Fuck your hand harder. He sped up. Good pet. He heard himself whine. He was good. He was a good boy. Another imagined tug. Look at me, puppy. He almost looked around before remembering he was alone. He wanted those eyes to watch him. Piercing, strange eyes that made heat clench in his stomach. His cock twitched in his hand. What a good boy you are. He rocked desperately against the length inside him. Good puppy. A dribble of cum spurted over his fingers. Good boy, Conall. Good pet. Come on, you can do it. Let me see you. Come for me, Conall.

God, yes. Yes. He shuddered and arched back against the cushions. Good pet. Conall. So good for me. Dark lips forming the words. Such a good boy. He kept touching through the waves of pleasure. Sharp teeth, a sharp gaze on him, so pleased to see him coming apart. My good pup. My Conall. That's it. He lost himself in the feeling. Cum splashed wet against his stomach and he kept fucking himself on the toy. Drawing out the feeling that emptied his thoughts of everything except those words and those eyes. You look so good like this, Conall. That's my good pet.

He dropped his hand from his cock when it got over-sensitive. He used it to brace himself instead so he could keep rocking against the toy, keep drawing out the deep pulsing satisfaction lighting him up from the inside. Nothing but the feeling and the praise and Eon watching him. Good boy, Conall. His eyes rolled back behind his eyelids. He clenched around the length inside him. He wished it was thicker. They'd want to watch him stretched on it, hear him panting and whining. Another deep burst of pleasure rocked him. He'd show Eon how good he could be.

Good pet. Good pet. Good pet...

Eventually the pleasure tapered off, his hips coming to a still. He gasped for breath and laid back. His head was quiet, warmth and lassitude where his thoughts should be. He sank deeper into the pillows behind him and drifted on the feeling. He could drift off like this. But it wouldn't be too comfortable... He wobbled to his feet, pulling the toy out and leaving it on the towel. Then he stumbled to his room and into bed. Warm and comfortable and quiet. Sleep claimed him.

-

Mid-morning, the need to go to the bathroom woke him before his alarm. His mouth had an unpleasant taste.

Conall blinked at himself in the mirror. He didn't usually forget to brush his teeth. He washed his hands and let water pool in them.

He splashed water on his face. Memories of last night filtered in as he came to full awareness with the cold shock of water. Memories of first working himself to fever pitch to the idea of being a pet, and how he'd fucked himself to completion on the toy. Then the vague recollection of what he'd been imagining when he came. He felt a clench of sudden heat in his stomach and let out an involuntary whine. Oh god. Oh fuck. The realisation did not stop his cock twitching at the memory. Shit. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck.

He'd touched himself to the thought of Eon (again) and it had felt good. Beyond good. Better than nearly anything he remembered. Conall felt himself shaking.

He brushed his teeth with a tremor in his hand. Sudden realisations or not, his mouth had tasted awful. He'd skipped his nighttime routine, he was that... Gone. That was the word. Gone. His thoughts had been emptied out and there was nothing left but pleasure.

It had felt so good.

He let out a distressed noise. He couldn't be getting hard again at the thought. That was not fair. He should be too frightened by the memory for it to turn him on. He'd thought of Eon owning him, for god's sake. The jolt of fear at the thought shouldn't be chased by heat. What was wrong with him? He shouldn't want to chase that mindless bliss again. He shouldn't be even slightly tempted to go back to touching himself until his morning alarm went off. He shouldn't, he shouldn't.

"Feck sake, Conall, pull yourself together," he muttered.

Even if he was tempted when he shouldn't be, he had to be more responsible than that. It didn't matter what some libertine part of him wanted, or what irrational direction his fantasies had gone in. It didn't make a difference to his duties. Even if he had some sort of weakness, it didn't change what he had to do. He had his responsibilities to his site. It was a liability, what he had done, but it didn't change how he had to behave.

Obviously Eon could not fucking know about this because they would... They would. They would be only too happy at the thought of him being their pet, going by the way they'd looked at him during their visit. A whimper slipped out of him. They'd use that to turn him back on himself, and more importantly, to turn him against Orpheus. They'd be so pleased by it. Fuck, his legs went weak at the thought.

"Get. It. Together," he growled at himself in the mirror, at the high blush on his cheeks and his sleepy-looking eyes. He ran cold water and splashed it on his face again. Fuck. He couldn't think about that. It didn't matter. It was a liability. He was a liability. But he knew what his duties were. One didn't change the other. Nothing had changed.

Nothing had changed.

-

The next day when he greeted Marcy on the way to his office, he saw her eyebrows rise a fraction as he waved.

"Good morning, Director Hennessy," she said cordially. "If you don't mind me saying so, I think what you've done with your nails suits you."

Nails? Conall blinked, not comprehending, but out of habit he smiled back at her and answered politely. "Good morning, Marcy. Thank you, it's kind of you to say so."

Confusion reigned as he walked to his office, trying not to let his bafflement show as he passed and greeted coworkers in the hallway. He took a surreptitious glance down at his hand as he turned the handle to his office, and then openly stared once the door was shut behind him.

His nails were an even, matte black. He stared some more, trying to recall when he'd painted his nails and how he'd forgotten.

It was possible he painted them in some kind of stress-induced haze the day before. Weird, but possible. Especially considering the autopilot he'd been on that entire day after the whole Eon thing. He definitely had a pot of black polish somewhere even if he hadn't touched it since several Hallowe'ens ago. That was the only thing that made any sense.

He felt silly for being so unnerved about his sudden nail polish - it did look good - but how much stress did a person even need to be under to forget doing that? If this was any indication, he'd probably have a breakdown altogether if he didn't sort himself out. If only he had any clue as to how, when nearly every thought seemed to lead him back to Eon. He needed to de-stress but it felt like he hardly knew how. It would be so much easier if he had someone to tell him what to do. So he could relax and not think at all.

No, no. He couldn't indulge that idea. Get it together, Conall.