This is perfect. And I love that you thought of me when you saw it. :D Thank you!
You know I don’t need a gun pointed at me for me to be ready, willing, and eager to please you.
That’s not why you do it.
You do it because of the way I react. Because of the way I look at you. Because of the way my breathing changes. Because of the way I tremble, ever so slightly.
You do it because you know I crave that heady combination of danger, fear, violence, power, and arousal. Because you know how it makes me feel. Because you know how wet my cunt gets. Because you know how much I love it.
“Silence is a source of Great Strength.” ― Lao Tzu
This picture appeals to me a great deal and I can’t quite figure out why.
I just keep coming back to it and looking at it.
Something about it is just…sexy? Sexy is the right word, but it’s not really even in a gunplay, fear-inducing kind of way. Looking at it makes me feel various unidentified positive feelings.
Warnings: Gun!kink, gunplay, established Wincest, hints of dubcon but it’s really totally consensual, questionable ways of resolving pent-up frustration, pretend blowjob, object insertion
Word count: 500 exactly
Summary:During a physical confrontation Dean discovers something new about his little brother: Apparently, Sam has a serious gun kink?? Well… They probably shouldn’t explore it any further because it’s pretty damn messed up… Right?
A/N: This is for @impala-dreamer‘s drabble challenge. I picked SPN and the prompt “something kinky” for this one. You can read part 1 of this drabble as a stand-alone or as a build-up for this one.
The metal effortlessly slides into Sam’s mouth, his lips instantly sealing around the barrel. Dean’s handgun feels heavy and tastes like discharge residue, makes Sam let out a keening noise from deep in his chest. His mind’s spinning. Drool’s running down his chin now as his big brother slowly begins to pulls the gun back out, dragging it against his tongue.
“That’s it, Sammy…”
Dean sounds out of breath. He looks it too, face flushed and droplets of sweat beading near his hairline.
“Go on, get it nice and clean…” he pants and pushes the barrel back into Sam’s mouth.
In response, the younger man grinds the heel of his own hand into his groin, trying to quell some of the heat pooling there too quickly.
“God, you’re such a slut, aren’t you?” Dean says, green eyes laser-focused on the way the gun disappears into Sam’s mouth, pink lips stretched obscenely around the barrel. This is new territory. It’s beyond messed up. Even though there are no bullets in the chamber, they’re definitely crossing a line here that isn’t supposed to be crossed. Ever. But there’s no going back, not now.
“Fuck…” Dean grunts when Sam tightens his lips around the barrel, doing his best to imitate some sort of twisted blowjob. It’s like something out of a dark porno, tongue swirling around and lapping at the metal greedily. A moan even spills out of his little brother when the gun dips in even deeper and makes him gag. It’s vulgar and for some godforsaken reason it goes straight to Dean’s dick.
Pulling the gun out of Sam’s mouth, Dean presses the muzzle against his brother’s belly. The barrel pokes right at the soft area below his navel and a whine escapes Sam, all frightened and so, so needy.
“Strip.”
Dean’s command leaves no room for misunderstandings. None. And Sam hurries to do as he’s told, stumbling on his own feet as he tears off his shirt and jeans, his underwear unceremoniously following suit.
“On the bed.”
Another command that rips a pathetic moan from Sam, sets his groin alight. He’s scrambling onto the bed, springs in the mattress squeaking in protest. And before he knows it, Dean’s on top of him, the front of his shirt pressed flush against Sam’s sweaty chest. And the gun’s back. Sleek metal feels cold against his skin as the barrel suddenly slips in between his legs. And Sam stops breathing.
“Want me to stick it in you?” Dean husks and Sam lets out a desperate groan, bucking against the gun as it finds his entrance. And then Dean pushes, the tip of the muzzle lightly breaching the already slick hole.
“Maybe I should pull the trigger? Huh? Put a bullet in—”
A cry rips from Sam’s throat, back arching right off the bed as splatters of white streak his abdomen. Spasming, his mouth opens in a scream, eyes screwed shut. Dean just watches in bafflement, wide-eyed and breathless.
