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Barney arched on the bed. Gravity pulses tossed his powerful body around like a speck of dust. At full force, they could have crushed a headcrab and maimed a human, but Gordon, of course, had no intention of injuring his lover.
Calhoun sprawled, exposing his body to the crackling beams. They lashed him, pressed him into the bed, even leaving bruises here and there, but Barney was only spurred on by the sense of danger. He trembled violently, cursing as the stinging orange whip lashed his cock several times in a row. As soon as he gave in and closed his legs, Gordon barked,
"Where's your nerve, Combine soldier?"
The Messiah was punishing the Combine bastard. This was the plot of their little role-playing game, the game's tropes being pain, humiliation, guilt, and fear, and the reward — the long-awaited release and the illusion of redemption.
In fact, Barney didn't even need to get into character.
Gordon sent a jolt right into the same spot; Barney cried out, bucking his hips and writhing like...
Like people on a torture chair.
"Damn it."
Barney curled up into a fetal position, hiding his eyes.
"Straighten up, now," Freeman commanded, and the thirst for submission burned away the remorse that had surged through Calhoun like a hail of fire.
The next pulses slid like light bites across his chest and stomach, his inner thighs, teasing. When Barney reached for his cock, unable to bear this torture any longer, gravity pinned him to the bed, preventing him from moving.
"No."
"Gordon," Calhoun begged hoarsely, as if a concrete slab had fallen on him. "Gordon, please…”
Freeman finally released him, allowing him to breathe deeply. His heart was pounding in the confines of his ribs, the sound of the surf echoing in his head, but Gordon gave him no respite, sending a shock into his sack. Barney howled, pressing his back against the cold headboard in a pathetic attempt to escape his tormentor. His balls tightened, indicating extreme arousal. Noticing him reaching for his crotch again, Gordon frowned sternly. His chest felt like a huge fist was squeezing him, and Barney, in a kind of animal panic, felt an inexorable force dragging him back toward Freeman.
"On your knees, Calhoun. Or whatever your nickname is in that shitty Civil Protection?"
Barney sobbed, getting on all fours.
"Th-thirteenth, sir."
"Lucky you, then," Gordon chuckled sarcastically, "you can pray equally fervently to both the Benefactors and the devil."
Barney's eyes stung — the comparison had struck a nerve.
"Yes, sir.”
The superconductors scraped against his thighs, covered in goosebumps of anticipation, his taut stomach. The vibrating mouth of the energy field manipulator pressed against his tense buttocks, lifting the man's pelvis higher. Anxiety and lust mingled into a foul, bubbling mixture, which Barney downed in one gulp without wincing.
"Please," he whispered barely audibly.
Calhoun spread his buttocks with his hands, listening intently to the grinding of the device's handle. It hummed, slowly and insistently turning him inside out. His lubricated anus oozed fluid, staining the protective frame on the gun's barrel.
"Harder..."
Gordon slapped him across the ass.
"...sir," Barney amended.
Freeman handled the gun so subtly, so skillfully. He pulled and released, gravity pulses rolling along Calhoun's large intestine, eliciting hoarse, guttural groans. Gordon slapped him hard again on his large, luscious ass, revelling in his intermittent sobs.
"You're so juicy, Thirteenth."
The gravity gun struck him deep, sending electric shocks down Barney's spine. He could no longer feel his legs, his fingers digging into the sheets as a hard palm penetrated his wet, pulsating flesh. The black, God-knows-what-made CP glove quickly absorbed the warmth of his body, adjusting to a comfortable temperature.
"Gordon!" Calhoun cried out, overwhelmed by the sensations and forgetting to add "sir." However, this time Gordon didn't punish him for his liberties; the way he was squelching for him was enough. Freeman's hand clenched menacingly into a fist, causing that mass of steely muscle and belligerent masculinity to tremble and whine like a lost puppy.
"I knew you are a soft, sweet little sub inside, Thirteenth," Barney heard between his own moans. As if through a pillow, from somewhere far away. The pleading in his cracked voice grew.
"Good boy.”
A mercilessly fast pace, bare wires of the nerves. He puts a hundredweight of hot meat on his hand until Calhoun's wrecked anus is somewhere on his elbow. Barney's strong legs instantly turned to microwaved Play-Doh, and it took all his remaining willpower not to melt across the bed like scrambled eggs.
"More. More," he said, throwing his ass up and squealing contentedly.
Pull it out sharply and, without giving him time to recover, punch it back under his abdomen. Barney slammed his fist into the mattress, cursing so loudly and heatedly that even the G-Man, hearing it, would have preferred to retreat quietly.
"Come here, ranker," Gordon rumbled, pressing his spread fingers against the sensitive walls. "I'll kick your ass for saying that. Where did you pick these words up? Didn't your mother ever wash your dirty mouth with soap?”
Shuddering from another sharp slap, Barney bit the sheet and spread himself as far as he could, exposing the red, wrinkled flesh.
Squeezing his eyes shut weak-willedly.
The gravity gun emitted a soft orange glow. Tears sprang to Barney's eyes from the strain, his outstretched hands shook, his knuckles whitened, and a drop of urine appeared on the head of his penis. Putting the device aside, Gordon touched the intussuscepted intestine with his fingers and lips. Then he greedily drew it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Barney completely lost all pride, alternately growling lowly and then whining shrilly:
"Oh, God, Gordon... sir... please... Please! I'll die if you stop!!!"
Freeman heeded his pleas, sucking the mucous membrane deeper into his mouth. Tender, steamed Combine meat. Mmm, delicious. A generously lubricated black glove wrapped around Calhoun's rock-hard cock.
"Gordon!" Barney's piercing scream was laced with madness.
Without listening, the Messiah passionately devoured his prisoner's red rosebud, squeezing Calhoun's cock until it hurt. It felt like a needle had been injected into their veins along with the drug. They both moaned uncontrollably.
"Push for me," Gordon croaked, aroused to the limit.
Freeman pushed the prolapse back in, jerking Calhoun off so fast that he involuntarily tensed, and the bud of flesh opened again before his executioner's face. Barney felt his hot kisses on him like molten wax, drip-drip-drip, languor and pleasure dissolving his insides like hydrochloric acid.
"Fuck yes!" the beard, wet with saliva, teases him so necessary, so fucking awesome, “yes, Gordon, yes!!!”
Barney thrashed wildly, cumming like it was his last. His powerful hands tore through the threadbare sheets, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his throat erupted in a cry so obscene that Gordon would have surely cummed if he hadn't done so a moment earlier, while frantically rubbing his face over Calhoun's prolapsed intestine.
Freeman carefully pushed it back and pulled a mini-first aid kit from the pocket of Calhoun's CP uniform. Barney weakly extended his arm so Gordon could inject him with larval extract. After the strain, Calhoun's muscles needed to regain their elasticity.
When Barney's anus had closed safely, Gordon lay down next to him, wiping the sperm off him. He didn't apologize, for which Barney was terribly grateful. Freeman stared at his flushed face for a long moment, and Calhoun wasn't sure he knew exactly what he was thinking. When Gordon raised his hand, Barney flinched slightly, but he merely smoothed his sable brows, glistening with sweat.
"The game is over, Barney," he reminded him.
Large olive eyes blinked and closed. Calhoun felt lips on his own, relaxing and burying his fingers in his chestnut hair. A dazzlingly deep aftertaste of being needed. The storm of emotions finally subsided, giving way to drowsiness and languor. Conscience retreated for a while to its cavern somewhere inside his head, grinning satisfiedly.
But time will pass, and it will again demand that Thirteenth pay tribute.