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It had always been a knife before this. And like, that was fine. Eddie had owned knives as long as he could remember, and he knew how to handle them well enough to keep anyone from getting hurt. They were emptying out Steve’s closet for the big move (and fuck, when had that happened?) when they’d come across the gun.
They hadn’t needed any weapons in close to a year now, and from the look on Steve’s face he had also forgotten about the revolver in his closet.
“Uh,” he said eloquently, blinking at it. “Nancy left that with me. In case we needed it. Emerson doesn’t have as many holes to other dimensions.”
“I’d gathered,” replied Eddie dryly, picking it up. “Is it loaded?” His familiarity with guns was less than with knives, but he was trailer trash from Indiana of all places. He had held a gun before. He checked. Unloaded. Popping the cylinder back in, he spun it around, just because he’d kind of always wanted to do that. He looked back at Steve, ready to share that it was unloaded and could probably be safely stowed in a box, but the look on Steve’s face pulled him up short.
Steve swallowed hard, eyes wide, lips parted—and that was his Danger Turns Me On face. Eddie knew that face intimately, and had needed to hide several of his knives to keep Steve from lusting after the idea of being threatened at the pointy end of them. “Is it?” Steve asked after a beat, sounding dry-mouthed.
“Is it what?”
Steve licked his lips, and swallowed again. “Loaded?” His hands twitched at his sides, but not the way they did when he was feeling squirrely, and itching to grab his nailbat—that was a tight, curling inward motion. No, instead his hands were spreading out, until he pulled them back in, and then they did it again on their own. He was trying, Eddie realized, to keep from reaching towards his cock, which was visibly interested.
Eddie extended his arm lazily, aiming it at Steve’s chest. “That’s none of your business. You ever been threatened at gunpoint?”
Whining, Steve gave a tight little nod. “A few times. Eddie, that’s not—” he cut himself off, huffing sharp breaths. “Eddie, that’s not safe.”
Eddie cocked the hammer and Steve panted, wide-eyed and flushed. “Color, Steve?”
Steve was still making shrill sounds with every breath, fingers scrambling at the fabric covering his thighs. “Green, Eddie.”
Eddie laughed, digging deep for his best despot character. Who knew that D&D would have prepared him so well for an exciting and varied sex life? “I’m holding a gun on you. I think we should start with you calling me ‘sir.’”
Nodding furiously, Steve tapped his thighs. Anxious horniness, Eddie’s favorite. “Yes—yessir, that…that makes sense.”
Eddie snorted, gesturing up and down with the gun. “Okay, handsome, time to get significantly more naked.”
“What about you?” Steve was glancing continuously between Eddie and the gun, back and forth, like if he looked away too long he would be ambushed.
Eddie spun in a slow circle, meandering to the bed. He sat down at the edge, leaning back on one palm as he flicked the gun up and down. “What about me?”
Steve nodded again and threw his shirt off as fast as was humanly possible, trying to keep his eyes on the gun at all times. His hands were shaking by the time they got to his pants, struggling to get the fitted jeans off of his feet, doing a stupid hopping dance as he glanced between the denim tangled on his feet and Eddie.
He looked so hot when he was panicked. Eddie ran the bottom of the grip across his cock, hardening in his jeans. Steve stopped what he was doing to stare, open mouthed, and as hot as that was, Eddie had given him an order, and that just wouldn’t do. He pulled the trigger, aiming somewhere around Steve’s feet, and Steve jumped, fumbling the rest of the way out of his jeans.
“Empty?” he asked again. Eddie pulled back the hammer and shot again. “Empty, sir?” Steve corrected hastily.
Eddie shrugged, doing his best to look entirely unaffected. “Ever heard of Russian Roulette? This is like that, except the only person who is playing to find out if there is a bullet in the cylinder is you.” He sat back up and struggled one-handed to unlock the handcuffs he’d been using as a belt, strung between the front two belt loops. It was mostly impractical, but it looked cool, and Eddie never knew when handcuffs might come in handy. Like right now.
Steve was watching him like a hawk, hands coming to cover his crotch, then pulled back to his sides, then behind him, then in front, over and over as he tried to figure out what Eddie wanted him to do with them. Eddie could have given him a hint, but Eddie was something of a sadist. He liked watching Steve struggle.
Managing to finally remove the cuffs, Eddie threw the cuffs to the ground at Steve’s feet. “I want your hands cuffed behind your back. And I want you on your knees.” Steve stood stock-still for a moment. “Now, Harrington.” Eddie fired the gun again, this time at the family jewels, and Steve sprung into action.
He dropped to his knees, hard, scooping the cuffs in his shaky hands and cuffing one immediately. It looked as though he was wrestling with them behind his back, and Eddie could have offered to help, but it was more fun to watch Steve do this shit to himself. Making Steve admit he was into things he thought he shouldn’t be was one of Eddie’s favorite hobbies. Steve had admitted, red-faced, that helping to contribute to his own terrible situation was one of those things, and Eddie was never going to let him live down.
It would have been easy to get up and check if Steve had actually cuffed himself, but he was a good boy, and he was kneeling with his arms behind him, sucking in desperate breaths and looking at Eddie with such horny adoration, that Eddie couldn't bring himself to imagine that Steve hadn’t done it. Steve’s cock was hard and glistening at the head, and his hips bucked as he searched for some friction, and all at once Eddie couldn’t deny him.
That didn’t mean he was going to make it easy. He glanced around the room for the perfect prop, and then his gaze fell on his own combat boots, laced to the middle of his calf. Oh, that would do just fine.
“Here,” Eddie said, voice dripping with disingenuous kindness. “If you’re such a desperate slut that you need to get yourself off so badly, you can use this.” He lifted his foot back on the heel, so the bottom of his boot, treads and all, was parallel to Steve’s straining cock. “A gift. To rub yourself off against.”
Steve’s face was so red, Eddie bet he could fry an egg on it. His lip quivered, like he was going to cry, or maybe ask Eddie why. Either would have been met with laughter. Instead, he licked his lips and said, “Thank you, sir,” in a tiny, shaky voice, and leaned forward to thrust against Eddie’s shoe.
A ragged little gasp escaped his mouth as he rubbed his cock against the unlubricated rubber. It couldn’t have been comfortable, and was probably far closer to painful, but Steve was a masochist in the making. Moaning, he kept up his performance, rocking against the bottom of Eddie’s shoe like this was a normal thing asked of him.
“That’s where you belong, you know,” Eddie said, conversational. “Under my boots. You’re nothing, Harrington. You’re less than nothing.” Steve groaned, hips stuttering. Fuck, how was he so close already? Eddie aimed the gun at Steve’s face and the moaning only got louder. “And you let me walk all over you. Come on, big boy, show me what you got. I wanna see you cum all over yourself and my shoe. And then I want to see you lick it up.”
With a surprised yelp, Steve did, cum striping Eddie’s shoe and Steve’s stomach and thighs. Fuck. Eddie’s unarmed hand went to squeeze his own cock through his jeans. Shit, how was he that hard, too?
Steve sat there panting for a long moment, and Eddie didn’t know what to do except keep the gun trained on him. Maintaining eye contact, Steve scooted backwards, and slowly bent over, tongue extended, like he was actually going to lick Eddie’s boots, and fuck—he was actually going to, wasn’t he? Steve’s tongue was millimeters away from who knows what on the bottom of his shoes,when Eddie snapped to his senses. Using his foot, he nudged Steve back up.
“Sir? I thought you wanted my tongue?” Steve’s expression was somewhere between innocent and smarmy, and Eddie was absolutely not going to let him get away with that.
He pressed the gun against Steve’s forehead and fired. Click. Steve’s eyes were wide, and his breath was coming in gasps again, like the flick of a switch. “You shouldn’t make assumptions when the other person has a gun.” He pressed his foot to Steve’s shoulder and kicked, sending Steve sprawling backwards. “Color?”
After letting out a shout of surprise, Steve lay very quiet and very still. “Green, sir.”
“Good boy.” Eddie got off the bed and walked over to him, pulling his cock out of his jeans, and stepping alongside Steve. He planted his boot in the middle of Steve’s chest and pressed down. Steve moaned, keeping very still, but Eddie could feel how his breathing had gotten more shallow, could feel every breath pushing against the sole of his shoe. Eddie laughed and started pulling at his cock with abandon, aiming his cock and the gun at Steve’s face. “Two shots left, Stevie. Are you feeling lucky?”
Steve made a punched out noise. “It’s unloaded, right, sir? Sir?”
“Better hope so,” Eddie said, and he could hear how drunk on power he sounded. His cock was hard as fuck, and he was not going to last long with Steve struggling to breathe under his foot and looking so fucking scared. “Bang.” He shot the gun and Steve's muscles contracted with how hard he flinched.
“Sir,” he whined, gasping and shaking, but never trying to push Eddie off of him. The trust that Steve had in him and how hot the scene was in general was pushing Eddie to the edge faster and faster, like a runaway train.
“One left. Do you trust me, baby?” Steve’s eyes were wet, tears clumping his eyelashes together from either fear or adrenaline or something. He cocked the hammer and Steve’s breath picked up, fast and shallow under Eddie’s foot. “Ask me for it, Steve.” Steve opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was covered in sweat, and Eddie realized he was, too. Why hadn’t he taken his clothes off? “Go on, Steve, ask me to shoot you.”
Steve whined again, high pitched and breathy. “Please,” he said, gasping. “Please shoot me, sir.”
Eddie’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “My pleasure.” He pulled the trigger. Steve’s eyes squeezed shut, a full body flinch under his boot, all of him trying to curl without moving out from under Eddie. Relief washed over his face when he realized the gun was unloaded—and Eddie couldn’t resist for a moment longer.
His orgasm hit so hard that his hearing was replaced with buzzing for a moment, but his eyes stayed wide open, and he watched his cum splatter across Steve’s face and hair, and yeah, this was one for the spank bank. Eddie stood there for a few moments longer, weight resting on Steve’s chest, panting as he watched Steve, who looked so floaty it was a shock he was staying under Eddie’s boot at all. Finally, he removed his foot and slid to the ground, gathering Steve off the floor and close to his chest.
Steve flopped onto him, boneless, not fighting Eddie’s arms due to the fact that his own were still bound.
“How you doing, baby?” Eddie asked after a moment of holding his boy in his arms.
Steve hummed. “Good, sir.”
“You don’t gotta call me sir anymore.”
Steve smiled against Eddie’s neck, so wide that he could feel it. “I liked it.”
Oh. Oh. “Well, okay. I liked it, too. You okay? Didn’t cum your brains out?”
Steve shook his head. “I could go another round in like….ten.”
Eddie wasn’t sure he could cum again so soon, but he supposed there were other things he could do to Steve. “Do you want the handcuffs off?”
Steve shook his head again. “Don’t bother. Just have to put them right back on again, sir. I liked being tied up for you.”
Eddie hid his face in Steve’s hair to cover the dopey smile on his face. Ten minutes, huh? That was enough time to think of something properly devious for his boy. “So smart, tiger. So full of good ideas.”