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“On your knees, you plastic fuck,” Gavin barks, pressing his service pistol to Connor’s forehead.
Connor lowers himself slowly to one knee, then the other, and the muzzle never leaves his skin. It’s cold and hard, and a shiver shoots down Connor’s spine. His voice comes out croaky. “I’m sure we can work this out, Detective Reed.” He glances around the archive room, at the bright wall of evidence Connor had been inspecting. “I don’t have much time.”
“Did I say you could speak?” Gavin slams the butt of the gun into Connor’s temple, and Connor catches himself on his hands as his vision fuzzes with static.
Connor tries again, pushing up on his knees, saying, “I’m only trying to--”
The barrel shoves into his open mouth, clicking against his teeth and pressing his tongue flat. Bitter gunmetal and oil bring up an analysis of chemical makeup, but all Connor can focus on is the hard surface forcing his mouth wide.
“Thank fuck something finally shut you up,” Gavin says. “I could blow your processor out here and now, but all you do is fucking talk.” He shoves the gun in further, stretching Connor’s jaw to its limit. His thirium pump is pounding in his chest, and though he doesn’t need air to live, he’s breathing hard through his nose as his body’s autonomous systems respond to his stress level.
Pseudo-saliva spills past Connor’s lips, down his chin. He raises his head, trying to make eye contact, to somehow convince Gavin to let him finish his mission, but Gavin is looking intently at the gun now.
It pulls out of Connor’s mouth a little, and Connor gasps for air. The barrel is shiny with saliva. Gavin pushes it back in, forcing his jaw wide, and then back out, almost experimentally. The slide of metal across Connor’s tongue is strange and somehow exciting, each gasp of air sending a thrill down his spine.
Gavin pulls the gun out of his mouth all the way, and a string of saliva drips between them as Connor gasps raggedly. There’s a heat building low in his stomach.
A hand grabs Connor by the back of his head, forcing him forward, overbalancing him. He grabs Gavin’s hips to stay upright as his face is pressed to the front of Gavin’s jeans. There’s a clear bulge in his pants, and Gavin grips Connor’s hair, rocking his clothed cock against Connor’s face.
Connor finds his own body answering--his dick twitches and he can feel the lubrication his body synthesizes being released.
“Oh shit,” Gavin gasps. Connor tries to pull back, pushing against Gavin’s hips, but the grip on his head holds him tight against the thickening bulge.
“Detective, I didn’t know you were attracted to me,” Connor says, hoping to rile him up or embarass him enough to get him to back off. He needs to complete his mission.
Instead, the gun slams into his temple again, dazing his processors.
He’s released suddenly, and Connor drops back on his thighs, trying to right his internal systems from the blow.
“Stand up,” Gavin commands, training the gun on Connor again. The barrel is still slick with Connor’s saliva.
On unsteady legs, Connor rises. Gavin gestures him back, and when Connor takes a few steps backwards he finds the wall. Gavin follows, pressing the barrel to Connor’s chest, and then lower.
Gavin laughs, prodding the front of Connor’s pants with the gun. “You like that, huh? You get off on this?”
Connor trembles as the gun brushes him, trying not to press into the sensation. Gavin strokes the growing length of Connor’s dick with the hard barrel, and Connor sucks in air through clenched teeth at the teasing touch.
“Shit, look at you. You really do think this is hot.” Gavin finally takes the gun away, but keeps it pointed at Connor. “Come on then. Strip.”
“I can’t do that, Detective,” Connor says quickly. “I have to find Jericho and complete my mission.”
Suddenly, Gavin rushes forward, pressing the barrel of the gun to the underside of Connor’s chin. A leg forces itself between his, thigh grinding against Connor’s erection. Connor inhales sharply, rocking against the pressure. Lubricant is dripping from his hole, probably soaking the seat of his pants by now.
“Strip, you plastic asshole, or I’ll put a hole through your goddamn face,” he whispers against Connor’s lips, eyes sharp and hungry. He grinds against Connor’s once, a slow roll of the hips that drags his erection against Connor’s leg, then backs up again.
Connor is left panting against the wall, trying to get his thoughts in order, to remember his mission. It’s so difficult though, with his dick straining against his pants. His hands shake as he sheds his coat and unbuttons his shirt, kicks his shoes off, and undoes his belt. Cool air hits his erection when he pulls his pants and underwear down, and he has has to hold in a low whine.
When Connor looks up, Gavin has his pants open and is fisting his cock, biting his bottom lip hard as he watches. A jolt runs straight through Connor--he digs his nails into his thighs to resist grabbing his own dick and relieving the pressure.
Gavin approaches him again, running the muzzle of the barrel down Connor’s chest, and then along the length of his dick. Connor shivers, dick twitching, fluid leaking from the tip.
“Does the thought of being shot make you that hard? You look like you’re going to come just from this.” The barrel rakes back up his dick and Connor’s hips twitch in an aborted thrust. “You want it so bad. I could fuck you with this and you’d take it, wouldn’t you?”
Then Gavin is on him, reaching down and wrapping his forearm under Connor’s knee, unceremoniously jerking his leg out from under him. Connor has to press hard against the wall to keep from losing his balance as Gavin lifts, spreading his legs wide open, nearly hooking Connor’s knee over his shoulder.
Something hard presses to Connor’s entrance, too cold and unforgiving to be Gavin’s dick.
He looks down and something sharp runs through him at the sight of the gun barrel between his legs. His thighs are soaked and his cock is dripping.
“Go on,” Gavin says. “Fuck yourself on this gun. Show me how much you want it, you filthy slut.”
His task menu alerts him to his ongoing mission, and but Connor can’t even focus on it. His eyes are locked on the gun.
Gavin jostles his leg and tightens his finger on the trigger, not enough to pull the hammer, just a loud click.
“Fuck it, bitch,” Gavin commands. “Not too hard though. Don’t want me to pull the trigger.”
Connor presses against the gun barrel, his hole opening easily around the muzzle. The stretch is uncomfortable at first, but as the hard edges grind against his insides, he gasps at the pleasure shooting through him. He grinds down on it, taking more, being filling by the gun barrel.
“You’re so fucking nasty,” Gavin says, drawing the gun out.
The slow drag of the metal sliding out of him makes him moan, hips chasing the feeling, trying to keep it in him. When it thrusts back in, hard, filling him to the trigger guard, it presses against a spot deep inside that has Connor arching up on his toes and moaning loudly.
“God, CyberLife really knows how to build its sluts.” Gavin picks up the pace, thrusting the gun in and out, and Connor fucks himself on it, cock bouncing against his stomach. The trigger clicks again and his thirium pump skips a beat, but he doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. Every time the muzzle presses against that spot inside, his visual processors white out and his dick pulses with need.
“Fuck that’s so--” Gavin cuts himself off and pulls the gun out, and Connor thrusts helplessly at the air, begging to be stretched and filled again.
A moment later, Gavin’s dick fills him and the barrel is pressed to Connor’s lips. He opens his mouth eagerly, letting Gavin feed the barrel in, still sticky from Connor’s hole. Connor licks the barrel clean, thinking of how it was in him moments ago, fucking him with Gavin’s finger on the trigger the whole time. He could have died.
Something sharp digs into his collarbone. Gavin sucks and bites along Connor’s collar and up the column of his neck, thrusting harder, filling the air with the sound of skin on skin and the obscene sounds of Connor’s hole being filled over and over.
Connor licks along the barrel of the gun, fucking hard against Gavin, until he can’t take it anymore. He comes with a sharp cry, pressing his head back against the wall, shaking as come shoots across his and Gavin’s stomachs.
Gavin doesn’t stop, pressing the gun harder into Connor’s mouth, until he’s practically deepthroating it. He keeps hitting that spot deep inside, over and over, and Connor’s dick twitches.
“Fuck, you came and you’re still hard?” Gavin pants, incredulous. Connor can’t say anything around the gun. Saliva drips from his mouth, drooling down his chin.
The arm Gavin has wrapped around Connor’s thigh hoists him up, actually hooking Connor’s knee over his shoulder, stretching Connor open even wider. With his now free hand, he grabs Connor’s dick, jerking it roughly, every callus dragging against Connor’s over sensitive dick.
Connor whimpers around the gun at the overwhelming touch, and thrusts against Gavin, grinding into him, trying to get him to hit that spot again. When he does, his head hits the wall hard and come dribbles from his cock.
Gavin loses it at that, giving a few more quick thrusts before stiling, hot seed spilling deep inside. His hand still jerks Connor’s dick, rubbing his come up and down his length, but the gun finally leaves Connor’s mouth.
His jaw feels loose without the gun stretching it open, and when Gavin finally pulls out, come drips down his thighs.
Connor’s panting hard as he looks up at Gavin, who plants the barrel between Connor’s eyes. Gavin stares him down, face unreadable, before making a little explosion sound with his mouth and pulling the gun away.