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The windows of their third floor office were cracked open, cheap desk fan whirring, and Arthur had undressed down to his shirt and underwear. Crickets chirped in the hot night air, and John assured him that the single desk lamp illuminated only their work. Arthur had been too hot and exhausted to argue with him, undressing as far as modesty would allow at his partner's urging.
The documents laid out before them revealed no more leads than they had an hour ago, and Arthur didn't need to share a mind with John to know his attention had been fraying. The cylinder of their revolver clicked back into place for the umpteenth time that night, and Arthur again considered offering John a worry stone. But no, John claimed he needed the practice, to build the muscle memory that would keep them safe in a moment of danger. Arthur suspected he just found it amusing.
Arthur, I've been thinking... Arthur heard the cylinder snap back into it's casing.
"Hmm?"
Remembering, might be more accurate. Some of our past encounters. John's voice took on that polished, dark quality that Arthur knew so well. He felt his pulse quicken.
Arthur jumped when he felt cool metal touch his skin, just below his navel, not quite suppressing a gasp. John continued, You find yourself on the wrong side of these things quite frequently, don't you?
"Hardly that often, John." Arthur's voice was not at all steady, frustrations melting away into anticipation.
John trailed the gun up his body slowly, purposeful. Taking his time to enjoy Arthur's quick breaths and small tremors. Arthur gripped the arm of his chair tight as John brought the barrel up over the hollow of his throat.
I could mention several instances like this. Multiple compromising positions you've put yourself in, where you had to outwit a man holding you at gunpoint. He felt the muzzle brush against his neck, lingering there.
Arthur's voice was a breath, "And I did, didn't I? Outwitted them and-"
I think you like putting yourself in compromising positions, Arthur.
Arthur gasped as John ran the cold barrel up his neck and jaw, seeking, demanding. Arthur could almost feel ethereal lips pressed against his ear, a firm hand holding him tight to a larger body. The guise of a dangerous man who would take what he wanted, and Arthur desperately wanted him to try.
Yes. Just like that... now, be a good man, and reach down to your pants-
Arthur already knew there was a humiliating tent in his boxers as he slowly moved his right hand downwards. John's eagerness was infectious, he could hear it, feel it in his bitten off groan, his heavy breathing. John wanted to bite him, to sink his teeth into Arthur's ear, his neck, anything he could reach, and Arthur shook with the intensity of that desire.
But, the only thing John enjoyed more than easy compliance on nights like these, was a struggle. A willing player for the part opposite him. Sometimes John's longing vexed him far past the point of frustration, into a very real pain. But that distress could be overcome, it could be... redirected. Arthur gave a small laugh, voice breathy, "I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that. You've hardly shown me you're serious, John."
A growl, and the empty gun coming up higher, resting right on his cheek bone.
I. Said. Touch yourself. Arthur moaned. He couldn't not. And keep your whore's mouth open, just like that.
He dutifully held his mouth open as John ran the barrel over his lower lip, testing. Arthur kept his hand clenched on the arm of the chair though, still pushing, still wanting to feel how far John would go. The answering growl was everything he'd hoped for.
You think I'm giving you a choice? Options for how you can escape this situation you've put yourself in? John slid the gun smoothly down Arthur's tongue, and the motion when straight to his cock. Not tonight. Tonight you'll do exactly as I say, and only what I say, and afterwards-
Arthur felt more than heard the flash of vicious inspiration, hot and sharp and entirely John's.
Would you beg? Would you get down on your knees and plead with me to spare your life? I'd love to hear that from someone so proud, Arthur.
He couldn't speak with the gun in his mouth, but Arthur hoped his desperate moans got the point across. He nodded his head, finally sinking into the helplessness of this game. Trusting John to catch him, to make him feel good. Arthur moved his hand to his painfully hard cock, and hesitantly began to stroke.
The tension in John uncoiled at Arthur's acquiescence, and both of them sighed with it. John continued to run the weapon over Arthur's mouth, playing with him. Enjoying his sighs and groans, his whimpering when John threatened to press in deeper. Arthur shook with John's lascivious praise for his willing surrender.
Beautiful, filthy, wanton, so hard for me as I use your mouth, so good, I can feel it, I can feel you- Arthur keened as John's thrusts became more frantic, edging deeper. The slide of the barrel against his mouth was nothing like a cock, but he worked his tongue around it, kissed at it sloppily when John withdrew. Anything to make John feel good, to kneel and supplicate before him.
"Can you see?" Arthur whispered, lips pressed to the barrel. "Can you see everything I want to do for you?" Then, in one not so smooth motion, he took the gun as deep as it would go, almost gagging, teeth knocking into the trigger guard. It was unyielding and hard against the back of his throat, the metal sharp against his pallet. He didn't care, knowing that John was watching- was feeling him gag only made him want to take the weapon deeper.
Oh, Arthur. John's voice was a growl, and Arthur wanted it, wanted to hear any composure and artifice he still had stripped away. He gagged and choked as John fucked his mouth with the gun, thrusts coming slow and hard. Almost leisurely, if not for the force behind them. Arthur tried to match pace with his own hand on his cock.
Arthur moaned openly, loosing himself in the act, in the emotions radiating from John. Half was the facade of a victor, the sadistic glee of meting out well deserved punishment to a fool. Half was the candor of a lover, to hold and caress and adore, a desire so hot and strong it felt like fire. All of it, John's whole being, wanting to make Arthur feel everything. To hold him in the palm of his hand.
Arthur spasmed as he came, teeth clacking against hard metal and gagging, hearing John moan helplessly in his mind.
-
They panted together in the silence, afterwards. Arthur's vision still swam with the suggestion of colors and shapes in the darkness. He wondered if John's did as well.
Arthur, I- was...?
Arthur's reply was barely a whisper. "Yes, John." He took John's hand and brought it to his mouth. Arthur kissed along his thumb and back of his palm, feeling the gun he still clutched tight, but no longer paying it attention. It had served it's purpose, for tonight. It could go back to simply being a tool.
John sighed, a sound so content and relaxed it made Arthur realize how tired he himself was. They spoke little as Arthur cleaned up, soft murmurs of question or assistance. John felt languid and soft inside him, an effect only enhanced by his touch. He stroked Arthur's chest, his neck, his face. John's praise was gentle now, almost chaste. The unavoidable sincerity of the words colored Arthur's cheeks and quickened his breath, before he returned their hands to the washbasin.
Arthur needed no assistance as he took them to bed. Still, he heard John's hand trailing against the plaster wall, then felt him brace as Arthur swayed on the corner. Just a small, supportive gesture, and Arthur was reminded very much of leaning against another's shoulder.
Their bedroom was small. A bed large enough for two shoved next to the window, a simple table and lamp next to it, an old dresser by the door. Arthur undressed, the little that he needed to, and pulled the sheets back.
Sleeping in the nude? Arthur, how indecent.
"As if you weren't angling for this all evening. I hope you won't find me too distracting."
Tempting. But I can remain a gentleman when it suites me. I assure you, your virtue will be safe.
Arthur laughed as he settled down, feeling the length of the day finally catching up with him. The back of his mouth was sore, maybe bruised, and each twinge gave him a little thrill- but he was exhausted, in every sense of the word. Though John didn't sleep, Arthur got the sense he was tired in his own way.
"Is the light on? Do you need a new book?"
No, but I can reach it easily, and I'm still enjoying the Whitman. But, the moon is dark tonight, and the night breezes are making the leaves flicker in the light of the streetlamps. I can see the stars quite clearly from our window, and they are bright. I'd like to spend some time watching the night, I think. Sleep, Arthur. I am well. Arthur felt John's hand run through his hair, knuckles against his brow. I'd like to watch over you. Just for a little while.
John brought his palm down to Arthur's lips and gently laid it there. Thumb resting on his nose, fingers slowly moving against his cheek. It was something like a kiss, something like being held close, something completely their own. Entirely without intention, Arthur felt his body relax, his breath grow steady and deep.
He felt safe, a peace that radiated outwards from so deep inside that it could only be where he and John were entwined. Arthur let himself drift off in the darkness behind his eyes, listening to the quiet sounds of the summer night.