Aleksi's gaze dragged over every inch, slow, hungry, furious. His jaw flexed when it reached my cock. His throat worked around a swallow.
"Like what ye see?" I asked, voice rough. I wrapped a hand around myself, gave one lazy stroke, and let my thumb smear the slickness over the head. "This is all for ye, Aleksi. Hate me harder. I can take it."
He made a low sound, half growl, half curse, and closed the distance. The revolver came up. Cold steel brushed my lower lip.
"Open."
I held his eyes for a long moment. Then I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue.
He slid the barrel between my lips. The taste hit instantly: gun oil, metal, the faint ghost of powder. My pulse hammered so hard I felt it in my teeth. I closed my mouth around the steel and took it deeper, tongue along the underside of the barrel. I hollowed my cheeks, bobbed slowly, let my lips drag wetly along the metal. The cylinder pressed against my teeth. One live round. One chance in six. The risk was whiskey and adrenaline and pure fucking want. My cock throbbed, leaking onto the floor.
I moaned around the gun, low and filthy and deliberate, tongue over the muzzle. The taste of iron and oil coated my tongue. My hips jerked forward, chasing friction that wasn't there. I was so hard it hurt. Light-headed with it.
Aleksi's breathing had gone ragged. His free hand fisted at his side. The knuckles holding the revolver were white. His eyes were locked on my mouth, on the way my lips stretched around the black steel, on the shine of spit already slicking down the barrel.
I pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing the muzzle with every word.
"Come on then," I rasped, voice wrecked. "Pull the trigger if ye're man enough. Or fuck my mouth with it. Either way, I'm no the one shaking."
Aleksi inhaled, and his control snapped.
He pulled the revolver from my mouth with a wet pop, the barrel gleaming with my spit. For half a second, I thought he might pull the trigger. Instead, he tossed the gun onto the bed with a heavy thunk, undid his belt and opened his fly.
"Open your fucking mouth."
I barely had time before he was shoving his cock past my lips.
He was thick, heavy, and already leaking. The taste of him, salt and skin, flooded my tongue as he pushed deep in one ruthless thrust. His hips jerked again, driving him to the back of my throat.
"Fuck—Fin—"
I took him. All of him. Relaxed my throat and swallowed around the head, nose pressed to the open V of his trousers, and his whole body shuddered above me. and a sound came out of him I don't think he'd planned. He was still mostly dressed. Tie hanging loose, shirt open at the throat, the heat of him coming off his skin in waves. I had my hands on his thighs and I could feel him shaking.
His hand came down on the back of my head and stayed there.
"Jesus Christ—" His head fell back. "It's—fuck, it's—I didn't—Christ, don't stop—"
He started moving, and it wasn't controlled. His hips jerked forward. Deep strokes that made my eyes water, that made my throat work around him. I let him have it. I knew what I was doing. I'd always known what I was doing.
Except his hands were in my hair and his voice was in pieces and I was on my knees on the floor of his flat and my chest had gone very quiet.
"Christ—why does it—" He broke off and tried again. "Why does it feel like—fuck—"
He couldn't finish it. I sucked harder, tongue working the underside, hollowing my cheeks on every pull, and whatever he'd been trying to say dissolved into a sound that came from somewhere below his ribs. Spit ran down my chin. I reached up, cupped his balls, rolled them, tugged. His knees buckled, and he caught himself on my shoulder, fingers digging in.
"Don't stop—don't you fucking stop—you little whore—don't—"
I wanted him ruined. I wanted this straight, dangerous bastard to never forget what my mouth could do to him.
I took him deeper until my throat fluttered and my lungs burned and tears were running down my face and I didn't care. His rhythm turned erratic. His grip in my hair was bruising.
"Gonna come—Fin—fuck, I'm—"
He slammed in deep and held me there, thighs shaking against my face, and spilled down my throat in thick, rolling waves. I swallowed every drop, milked him with my tongue until he was trembling and oversensitive and had gone quiet above me.
I stayed on my knees, lips swollen, chin shiny with spit and the last traces of him. My cock was aching, flushed dark, a steady drip of pre-cum falling from the tip onto the floorboards.
Aleksi stared down at me. His chest heaved. Then his jaw tightened, and the control came back.
