Dean doesn't know what to do when you turn around one night with those pretty doe eyes and beg him to stick his gun in your mouth.
He tells you he needs to think on it. It's a thing with enough weight that he needs to sit with the thought, contemplate it. He's never even considered it- mixing something as violent and coarse as his job with something as beautiful as you.
But the next night, when he's got you on your knees with wet eyes and sobbed moans, you notice his Colt sitting on the bedstand, bathed in golden lamp light.
He leans back for it causally, gaze still fixed on you below him. He lets out a sharp breath through his nose as his hand grazes across it, relaxed, like he's just looking it over.
You know it's not loaded- Dean's not stupid- but he still looks at it with a fire in his eyes before he returns his gaze to you. It's a look that makes your stomach tighten, sparks of danger filling the air.
"This what you wanted?" He speaks slowly, staring down at you.
You pull back slightly, biting your lip as you give him a small nod.
He smiles at you, that fire still there, "Go on then, show me how bad you want it."
You wrap your lips back around his cock, staring up at him through the tears in your eyes as you try to take more of his length. You choke slightly, but keep your head down, your tongue running along the underside.
"Fuck sweetheart-" he smiles down at you, "-such a pretty mouth."
His free hand goes to the back of your head, making sure you stay down as he thrusts his cock in. He hits the back of your throat with a self satisfied grin as you gag around him, your spit the only lube you've got to take him deeper. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears starting to spill down your cheeks, jaw aching.
You feel the cold metal of the muzzle, pressed hard against your temple. Your eyes fly open, staring up at Dean, his own expression tight, dark- carefully watching you. You glance out the corner of your eye. His finger isn't on the trigger, not yet, but it's still a pretty sight- his hand wrapped around a gun, a gun that's resting just above your cheek.
He swallows hard, clearly caught off guard by how much he's enjoying this- by how much you seem to be enjoying this. You take him deeper, eager to please, no longer caring about the spit that's drooling around the base of his cock, the tears staining your face, the bruises that are starting to burn into your knees.
"Christ-" Dean mutters under his breath. His length twitches down your throat, you can tell he's about to cum. He twists his fingers into your hair, keeping you still as he thrusts his hips up again, your face nestled against the wiry hairs at the base of his cock.
Then he pulls you back, hard. You suck in a sharp breath, choking on air as his dick stays hard in front of you. You blink up at him, still trying to breathe properly, your heartbeat pounding, your face a wreck.
He moves the gun slowly, dragging it down your cheek- you're sure he's following the patterns of your tears. It's almost gentle, casual, the way he moves the muzzle against your skin. He runs it along your jaw, tilting your head back up.
You don't say anything, no thoughts in your mind, just Dean and his Colt.
He glides it back up, until it's resting on your lower lip. Only then does his finger twitch to the trigger, resting on it carefully.
You know Dean. You can't imagine the process he's gone through to get to this point, how many times he must've checked it over- knowing him he's probably taken it apart and rebuilt it just to make sure there's no way it could actually hurt you. But he's still looking at you like he's dangerous, like he could blow your head apart if you make one wrong move.
He pushes the barrel forward, between your lips. You oblige, opening them up for him, sticking your tongue out just to sear the image into his mind. His cock twitches again in front of you, he leans back slightly, wrapping his free hand around it, stroking himself slowly.
You take the gun deeper, it tastes bitter, but you still let your tongue circle it, treating it like you'd treat Dean. He doesn't push it as deep, content with watching your tongue wrapped around it, your pleading eyes staring up at him.
You want him to pull the trigger, to hear that little click that tells you he's willing to obliterate you. You know he won't- not tonight- Dean's too careful to unwind years of training just because your eyes are begging him to. That's something you know you'll have to work on, though the way he's looking at you right now you can't imagine it'll take much convincing.
Instead he pulls it back out slowly, until it's resting back on your lower lip. You let out a quiet whine, blinking at him, still not saying a word. You watch the way his thumb rubs against his own cockhead, smearing the mix of precum and your saliva back down his length.
He glances at the gun for a long moment, mind turning, deep in thought. Then he looks back at your face, "You want me to fuck you with it?"
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