Kinky is a Loaded Gun (Sanzo/Gojyo, Saiyuki)
Kinky is a Loaded Gun
Author: lillypuff
Characters From: Saiyuki
Pairing(s): Sanzo/Gojyo
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Sanzo/Gojyo: gun-fetishes - Russian roulette
Word Count: 1,695
Warnings: PWP, gun-play (it is neither safe nor sane), graphic m/m sexuality, language
Summary: When the cold, hard metal presses against his lower lip, Gojyo flicks it faintly with his tongue…
Disclaimer: Saiyuki doesn’t belong to me. This is most likely a good thing because nothing -- with the exception of man-sex -- would ever get done if it did.
A/N: My thanks to
karuune for the wonderful, super quick beta. Its because of her that this fic is on time =) It should be known that this piece is a bit twisted, in fact, depending on who you are you might think its very twisted, but when faced with a prompt of “Russian Roulette” well, what do you expect? Just don’t say I didn’t warn you!
There are two things you can do when Sanzo has his gun pressed up against your forehead: stand there silently and hope for a swift end or beg and plead and hope Sanzo takes pity on you. Now, if you know Sanzo like Gojyo knows Sanzo, then you know as well as he does that option B isn’t going to do any good. Sanzo pities no one. Begging is just going to get you killed in a far less dignified manner then if you’d just stood there and put on a brave face.
Gojyo is not begging, but to say that he’s put on a brave face is a bit of a misnomer. A brave face doesn’t usually consist of a grin that stretches ear to ear, and it doesn’t usually consist of bright red eyes lit up like lanterns either; but then again, it’s not really a brave face.
With a hand that remains steady, Gojyo reaches up and wraps his long fingers around the barrel of Sanzo’s gun. For a moment the muzzle presses harder against Gojyo’s forehead, and he can’t help it when his grin grows and brightens.
Resting the back of his head against the wall behind him and putting only the slightest of amount space between his flesh and the muzzle, Gojyo uses his grip to slide the gun down his face, the metal tracing his features -- eyebrow, eyelid, and nose -- en route to his mouth. Sanzo’s not letting up much, if any at all, so it’s not the most graceful of actions, but it gets the job done.
When the cold, hard metal presses against his lower lip, Gojyo flicks it faintly with his tongue. This isn’t the smartest thing he’s ever done -- and even less smart is the fact that he hadn’t noticed if the gun was loaded -- but he thinks it just might be the hottest, if the wanting look on Sanzo’s face is any indication.
Closing his eyes, Gojyo leans forward slightly, allowing the muzzle to slide between his parted lips, his tongue reaching out to lick the underside like it were a sensitive cock, and not a dead, unfeeling piece of metal. Sanzo murmurs something that might sound like a moan and Gojyo can feel his dick hardening behind the confines of his infinitely too-tight jeans.
Bobbing his head, Gojyo continues his impromptu blow job; his lips sliding effortlessly down the barrel as if it were Sanzo’s own shaft, until the priest takes a step back and practically yanks it from his mouth.
Gojyo holds back a hiss as it grazes a tooth, his tongue flicking across it to find no damage done...for now. Eyes fluttering open again, Gojyo stares at Sanzo, his arm re-angled so that the gun is once again targeting his forehead, though this time there is more room between metal and flesh. Gojyo stares intently at Sanzo, wordlessly daring the priest to do something, anything; and Sanzo seems not to want to waste any time.
“Get those fucking things off, now,” Sanzo growls his eyes dropping low to stare at Gojyo’s pants, or maybe the protrusion behind them.
Gojyo snorts, but complies as he kicks off his boots. He’s suddenly thankful that he never really got in the habit of tying them. With speed, Gojyo unzips his pants, his eyes never leaving Sanzo as he pushes both jeans and boxers to the floor. Cool air assaults Gojyo’s exposed, heated skin and his cock twitches as it stands under Sanzo’s scrutiny.
“Turn around,” Sanzo commands and at first, Gojyo opens his mouth to protest, but he shuts it just as fast when Sanzo’s thumb brushes against the gun’s hammer. He doesn’t cock it, but it’s enough to make Gojyo obedient; at least for the moment.
Turning, Gojyo smoothly removes his shirt and tosses it aside before pressing his chest and stomach flat against the wall, his ass sticking out just a bit as if to tease Sanzo. He slides his arms between his head and the wall and waits.
For a few moments silences reigns and Gojyo can’t help but wonder if Sanzo is just standing back there, idly enjoying the view. He doesn’t mind being ogled, but his cock is practically twitching out a drum line against the wall and all he really wants is to satisfy his carnal needs.
Gojyo practically jumps when he feels the cool press of metal against the back of his right calf. The damned thing practically tickles as the muzzle of Sanzo’s revolver travels up his leg, working its way to his inner thigh. Gojyo groans, cross-eyed, when Sanzo runs the muzzle against his sack and moans louder still when the priest pushes it along the length of his crack before guiding it hard along Gojyo’s spine. The cool metal makes him shiver all over as if he is being rubbed with ice. Gojyo nips at his lower lip and suppresses further moans as he feels the muzzle come to rest at the back of his head.
A sound to the tune of Sanzo unzipping his pants informs Gojyo that Sanzo is indeed in a hurry. It is a sentiment that Gojyo agrees with whole heartedly as he feels Sanzo’s erection twitch against his right ass cheek.
With quite the rush, Gojyo feels Sanzo shove two of his slender fingers inside him, scissoring them almost immediately. Gojyo half-moans, half-hisses and pushes back against Sanzo’s penetrating fingers, hoping that the quicker they get this part done with, the faster the pain will go away.
When the burning turns into a tingling sensation, Gojyo relaxes slightly which Sanzo seems to take as some sort of cue to progress things at a quicker pace. Gojyo hisses when Sanzo quickly removes his fingers and repeats the noise a few moments later when a very cold, very wet cock slides roughly inside him. He braces himself for the pain, but the pleasure of Sanzo’s cock filling him overrides his nerves. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Gojyo thanks the proper gods for making sure Sanzo had lube handy.
Wasting no time, Sanzo begins to thrust steadily into Gojyo’s barely stretched hole, grunting and groaning in tandem with the twitchy redhead as Gojyo buries his face in his arms. Every thrust inside pushes the muzzle of the revolver hard against the back of Gojyo’s head. He’s pretty sure he’ll have a mark or two when all is said and done, but he doesn’t care. The gun is making him acutely aware of everything that happens to him; every thrust, every not-meant-to-be-gentle caress at his hip by Sanzo’s free hand, every breath that falls against the skin of his now sweaty back. Gojyo moans loudly and pulls one arm from its place between his head and the wall and reaches for his cock…
Sanzo stops, mid thrust. “Don’t,” he barks through strained breaths and this time Sanzo does thumb back the hammer with an audible click.
Immediately both of Gojyo’s hands are in the air, his head thudding against the wall, “Alright, alright.” Gojyo replies, practically yelling, before resting his arms flat against the wall, his hands slightly above his head, his now weeping cock twitching with anticipation and need.
Apparently satisfied, Sanzo resumes his thrusts harder, faster, and deeper then before, the gun digging painfully into the back of Gojyo’s head and all he can do is squirm and writhe against the wall, moaning like some needy virgin. He wants to come; wants it to be done with, not because he doesn’t like it, but because he thinks he needs to that badly.
When Gojyo’s splayed fingers start to curl, his nails dig into the already peeling paint job on the wall that he’s becoming rather intimate with. “Damn it Sanzo, just let me fuckin’ come.”
Gojyo hopes like hell Sanzo doesn’t think he’s begging, even if he thinks that’s exactly what it sounds like. He can’t help it if it does, all he wants is to find release and all it would take is a few precise strokes. He's so close he can practically taste it in the back of his throat.
“Sanzo…”
Sanzo makes no replies, not even a grunt or moan, just shallow breaths, as he thrusts hard and deep into Gojyo’s ass.
“Sanzo…” Gojyo repeats, this time tempting fate by turning his head back so he’s glancing over his shoulder, the muzzle of Sanzo’s revolver sliding neatly into the hollow of his temple. “Fuck, lemme come.”
Sanzo smiles wickedly. Realization dawns on Gojyo a little too slowly as a finger squeezes the trigger…
For a second, there is nothing but a painful white light in front of Gojyo’s eyes, and then it suddenly occurs to him dying feels an awful lot like an orgasm. Of course, when the initial shock wears off, he realizes that’s exactly what’s happening. There had been no thunderous boom, only the mild click of a hammer falling on an empty chamber; he’s not dying he’s coming, his untouched cock releasing its spend on the wall in front of him, his breathing harsh, his fingernails clawing into plaster. He can feel Sanzo’s release too, the priest’s cock pulsing inside him as Gojyo starts to sink to the floor, his forehead pressing hard against the wall, Sanzo leaning over his now heaped form.
“You sick fuck,” Gojyo grinds out through harsh breaths.
“Me?” Sanzo replies, cool and calm like they hadn’t just fucked. “You’re the sick bastard who got off on it.”
“Fuck you,” Gojyo replies. For a second, there is only the sound of his still heavy breathing, and then Gojyo manages to look up at Sanzo. “Was that thing even loaded?”
Without a word and with practiced grace, Sanzo pops out the revolver’s cylinder, and Gojyo’s pretty sure his heart stops for more then a single beat when he lays eyes on the single round loaded into one of the five chambers.
“Oh shit,” Gojyo replies not sure if he should laugh, cry or beat the crap out of Sanzo, or maybe all three just to make sure all of the bases are covered. “You sick fuck.”