The gun. Oh fucking hell. The gun.

The Russian trailed the barrel down /u/-webkit’s abdomen, brushing against the head of his cock. And the game nearly ended right there. But the Russian just kept the metal moving. Further and further down between Webkit’s thighs.

He withdrew his fingers slowly. Webkit stopped breathing. Because the Russian squeezed more lubricant into his hand and then he slicked it onto the gun.

Neither of them spoke. The Russian just maintained a searing eye contact as he nudged the muzzle against Webkit’s fluttering, sloppy entrance.

Webkit couldn’t watch. He couldn’t look away. It seemed that every synapse in his brain had fizzled out. His entire universe was condensed down to that single point of contact.

Metal and skin.

*This makes me hard* Webkit ~~commented~~ I mean thought in his head.

The Russian pushed. Webkit’s flesh gave. His muscle stretched around the intrusion. The gun was inside him.

A full-body shudder coursed through the redditor. His head dropped back, and he made a noise that might have been a sob, but he couldn’t be certain.

*There’s a loaded gun inside me. If the Russian pulled the trigger, the bullet would rip through my internal organs. Would I die instantly? Perhaps, if it made it all the way to my heart. Perhaps it would puncture a lung. And I’d die of asphyxiation.*

Webkit couldn’t move. He was frozen and limp in the same breath. Cornered prey. He’d accepted his situation. Drowned in the overwhelming danger.

The Russian began to move the gun slowly, driving it further into Webkit’s body, before carefully withdrawing, and repeating. The shape wasn’t quite right. It stretched him in an odd way. But it didn’t matter.

Because Webkit’s blood had all rushed to his cock, and to the surface of his skin. Sweating. He’d never felt so hot. Every single nerve ending in his body was tense with anticipation. The fire radiated out from the pit of his stomach. His heart pounded in his throat, in his brain.

He’d never been so aroused in his life.

The barrel grazed against his prostate. The shock of tingling, aching pleasure nearly destroyed him.

“Right there,” the redditor barely whispered. Because he could barely talk. He was torn between screaming in ecstasy, and crying because he wasn’t sure he could take the intensity of it.

The Russian smiled. And then he fucked Webkit with the gun, just like he’d fucked him with his fingers. Slow, measured, steady, hitting the right target every single time.

All sense of propriety abandoned, Webkit cried. He moaned. He begged for *moremoremore*. The Russian kept his pace, exactly how he wanted it. The bonfire in Webkit’s belly threatened to consume his entire being.

He sat on the direct edge of orgasm. All he needed was the Russian to reach up and just touch his cock. Once, perhaps twice. He knew better than to try himself. He wasn’t allowed to touch his own prick when the Russian was around. The punishments that came after that were not fun. They often involved housework instead of whips or cock worship.

“Oh—I’m so—ugh—I’m so close,” Webkit panted.

Every motion of the loaded gun was threatening to send him reeling over the edge. His cock be damned. Webkit wasn’t the type that experienced orgasm through prostate stimulation alone. He enjoyed it. But he always needed that little extra push.

Except, right then, it felt an awful lot like he was in free fall.

He felt his muscles starting to constrict, as a horrible sort of tension began to build. He couldn’t take it. He just couldn’t. His internal muscles coiled, clamping down. It hurt. It felt bloody wonderful.

He was trembling. Inhuman sounds forced their way out of his throat.

“That’s it, my redditor,” the Russian murmured, “come for me. Ride my gun.”

And that sent Webkit spiraling over the edge.

He got entirely lost in the synchronous spasm of every muscle in his body. The pulsing wave of pleasure singed through him. His cock twitched, spitting stripes of ejaculate across the creamy skin on his stomach.

His brain flooded with an intoxicating mixture of neurotransmitters. Oxytocin, adrenaline, dopamine.

And then, blankness.

He didn’t register the Russian withdrawing the gun, or unlocking the handcuffs. He barely noticed the Russian’s tongue in his mouth. The Russian was on top of him, rutting against him. Moaning. Shuddering. Going still. Adding his own come to the mess on Webkit’s stomach.

They were both quite sticky.

The Russian’s fingers tangled in Webkit’s dark curls.

“All right?” He asked softly.

“Amazing,” Webkit’s voice sounded tight and almost hoarse. “God… I didn’t think you’d ever…” he couldn’t even form the words.

“You thought it was loaded, didn’t you?” the Russian chuckled. “The way it be loaded like that /r/ANormalDayInRussia post from today.”

Webkit suddenly snapped back to attention. “What? You mean it wasn’t?”

The Russian propped himself up on an elbow. “My real gun, the one I fired, is still in the living room. I just fucked you with a copy, full of dummy rounds—and you didn’t notice.”

He looked entirely too pleased with himself. Webkit huffed and rolled his eyes. “Well I was blindfolded.”

“You didn’t even notice that I’d filed down the sight. It would have hurt a lot more if I hadn’t. Apparently, even bug brainwashed with BMW’s get thrown off when they’re aroused.”

“Stop it, you’re ruining the moment. Besides, you’re Greek, not Russian.”

The Greek planted a soft, rather chaste kiss on Webkit’s mouth, and then he rolled off of him. Webkit sulked for perhaps a minute or two, before he let the Greek gather him into his arms. They lay on their sides. The Greek liked to be the big spoon, despite his taller height. It was one of those things Webkit would have usually protested if it were anyone else.

But with the Greek it was acceptable.

He listened as the Greek’s breathing slowed. The man usually became quite drowsy after orgasm. It was a bit endearing.

“Thank you, Demetri,” Webkit said quietly, when he was certain the Greek had almost fallen asleep.

“You’re welcome.”

The Greek squeezed him gently.

Lazy afternoon sunlight streamed in the window above them. Webkit was tired. Sore. Sated. Happy. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment.