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Take What's Yours

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It turns out handguns really do make a click-click noise when someone's cocking one. Sean could've lived a whole lot longer without finding that out.

"Hold it right there."

"Take it easy," Sean says, putting both hands up. Damn. Hard to claim he wasn't stealing anything; he's wearing the guy's gold-and-onyx ring. And what would he say, anyway? "Sorry, the door was open so I wandered through your house until I found the safe in the study"? Probably not.

Sean turns around and gets about halfway before the guy raises his gun to chest level. "Uh-uh," he says. Even wearing nothing but thin pajama bottoms, he's managing to look threatening, partly because he's built but mostly because he's holding a fucking gun. His finger's not on the trigger--it's straight, alongside the barrel--but Sean doesn't think he could jump the guy before he starts shooting. "Get your hands on the wall."

Sean obeys, taking the few steps towards the wall he needs in order to flatten his palms against it. The guy reaches up and pins Sean's wrist down. "That's not yours," he says, and Sean glances over at the ring.

"I'll give it back," he says. "Just let me go."

"You think that's it, huh? You break into my house, steal my grandfather's ring, and I'll be happy if you just give it back?" He comes in close, chest up against Sean's back. The barrel of his gun slides up Sean's arm, and he strokes it down the side of Sean's neck. "I think you need a lesson, boy."

Sean shivers. This shouldn't be getting him hard, should it? Getting held at gunpoint by someone who's obviously not going to be happy with an apology and a promise never to come back? But the guy smells good, and Sean closes his eyes, forcing himself to hold still.

"What kind of lesson?" he whispers.

The gun moves down the center of Sean's back, and the guy nuzzles the side of Sean's neck. "What kind of lesson, Sir," he murmurs.

Sean swallows hard and nods. "What kind of lesson, Sir?"

"What's your name, boy?"

"Sean. Sir."

"I think you can guess what kind of lesson I have in mind, Sean." The guy chuckles. He steps away, but Sean doesn't move. There's a sound of a drawer opening, one of the desk drawers, Sean guesses, and then there's a snap and a heavy cold weight on his left wrist. He looks up and barely has a moment to register handcuff before his arm's being wrenched behind his back and the other hand's being cuffed, too.

Now he's hard enough he's having some trouble breathing, and he leans his forehead against the wall, trying to stay steady. "Please," he murmurs.

"Please what, boy?"

"I..." Sean licks his lips. "I'll do anything you want, Sir."

The guy laughs. "Oh, believe me, I know that." He reaches around Sean, gun hand curled around Sean's chest with the gun rubbing up and down from collarbones to stomach, and his chest's snugged up tight against Sean's back. It puts his cock right in Sean's hands, and Sean jerks into the wall as he discovers the guy's hard.

"Go on," he murmurs. "Touch it. Get to know it. It's gonna be up your ass or down your throat soon; might as well get a feel for it first."

Sean groans and squeezes, trying to figure out just how big the guy is. Not too thick. He's got some inches on him, though, enough Sean knows it'll hurt no matter what the guy does. But given the way he's rubbing against Sean's hands, the way he's stroking his gun over Sean's nipple--and oh, yeah, he has to know exactly what he's doing with that--Sean's pretty sure the guy wants him to hurt.

"Sir?" he whispers.

"Yeah, boy?"

"What's your name, Sir?"

"Sir isn't good enough?" The guy laughs. "No, you're right. Boys oughta know what name to scream when you bend them over. My name's Bill."

Sean nods, and Bill bites at the side of his neck, making him hiss. "You like biting, boy?"

"No--"

"Fuck, you really don't know a goddamn thing, then, do you?" Bill laughs again, and he untangles himself from Sean, hauling Sean over to the big desk in the center of the study. It's heavy, solid wood, and Sean can smell the furniture polish when his cheek's down against it.

Bill puts the gun down right in front of Sean's face--fat lot of good that does him when he's cuffed this way--and reaches around to Sean's belt, getting it open. He pops the button on Sean's jeans and eases the zipper down, then shoves Sean's jeans around his thighs. He laughs. "Do you always go commando or were you just hoping to get caught and fucked?" He reaches around again, gives Sean's cock a squeeze. "Feels like you wanted this, boy."

"No--"

"Aw, c'mon, you don't have to be coy. It's just you and me." Bill leans down, lips right next to Sean's ear. "Nobody else is gonna hear you scream, boy."

Sean jerks underneath Bill, struggling all over again. "Stop," he says, "just stop and let me go, please, you don't have to do this!"

"Nope. I just want to." Bill smacks the back of Sean's head and grinds his hips against Sean's ass before standing up and opening another desk drawer. Sean can't tell what he's after by the sound of it, but he can guess. You probably don't want to fuck the guy who's just broken into your house raw; who knows what else he's done for money? He's surprised to get some lube, though, even if it's worked in with three rough fingers.

And that's as much prep as he gets; Bill puts a hand between his shoulderblades and shoves in hard, grunting as he forces Sean to open up for him. There's just enough lube Sean knows he won't end up bleeding, but it still hurts like hell, and he struggles because he can't help it. He's got to.

Bill chuckles down at him again, adjusting his grip until it's on the back of Sean's neck. "You like that, don't you?" he pants. "You knew you were gonna get this sooner or later. I'm just glad I got to give it to you. Such a bad... fucking... boy," he growls.

Sean's hands clutch at nothing; there's nothing to get a grip on, and even if he could, what difference would it make? He struggles, but Bill's got him pinned down tight. All he can do is lie here and take it, and if the way Bill's grunting and letting out fast little half-laughs are any indication, Bill's enjoying the hell out of it.

And you're not? Sean shudders. He's enjoying it, all right, even though he shouldn't be. He's thinking about that gun, a few inches from his face, and the way Bill rubbed it against his nipple, the way his nipple got hard under his shirt. He licks his lips.

"Little... slut," Bill says, hips shoved up hard against Sean's ass. He grabs for the gun and slides the barrel across Sean's cheek. Sean moans, and Bill puts the gun up against Sean's mouth. "Lick. C'mon. Slut like you, you want it up both ends, don't you?"

"Please, Sir, no, I can't--"

"Get your mouth open," Bill growls. "Now."

Sean does, turns his head so he can suck just the tip of the barrel into his mouth. You're fucking crazy, he thinks, but he's not sure if he means Bill or himself. Or both. But the sight of Sean's lips around the barrel does something to Bill, makes him growl again and slam in for another few deep thrusts, and then he's coming with a snarl, cock pulsing in Sean's ass. When he's done, he pulls the gun away from Sean's mouth and rests both hands on the desk, catching his breath.

"Not enough, huh?" he asks. "You want more, bitch?"

Sean turns his head so his face is pressed against the desk; he can feel his skin burning. "Yes," he whispers.

Bill shoves himself back, cock slipping out of Sean's ass; Sean groans. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, Sir," Sean says, so low he's not sure Bill's even going to hear it, but then there's something cold and hard fitting itself against his ass, and yes, Bill must have heard that, because there's no way Sean would be getting Bill's gun pressing into his ass without it.

Sean's hands flex and clench in the cuffs; he squirms against the table, not sure where he's trying to go. Is he pushing forward? Shoving back? He can't tell, but the motion of the gun is relentless, opening Sean up, moving deeper and deeper and God, it's not as thick as Bill's cock, but it's unyielding; every inch is heavy, thick pain laced with that cold trickle of fear he's been feeling since Bill pointed that gun at him in the first place.

"I could do anything," Bill murmurs. "I could keep you here, lock you up, use you any damn way I wanted. Fuck you, hurt you, put you on a goddamn leash and piss on you--"

"Fuck," Sean gasps, images pushing him right up and over the edge, and he comes rough and noisy all over the desk.

Bill works the gun out of him, as fast as he can while still being careful about it, and he's got the cuffs unlocked in a hot minute. "Hey," he breathes, "hey, easy, good boy, God, you're so good, c'mere..."

Sean rolls over and lets Bill help him up--halfway, anyway. He leans hard against Bill, ass too sore to even think about sitting, and lets Bill rub his back, lets Bill tell him how good he was.

"You were great," Bill murmurs. "God, you were so fucking hot." He kisses Sean's forehead. "My hot little thief. Jesus."

"I think you enjoyed those handcuffs," Sean says softly, grinning against Bill's shoulder. "One minute it was just the gun and the next..." He laughs, rubbing his face against Bill's skin; God, Bill smells good. "Steel handcuffs. We ought to play with those more often."

"Hell, I'd do all of this more often." Bill laughs. "C'mon. Let's get you into bed."

Bill helps Sean out of his jeans so they can walk to the bedroom, and Sean sighs happily as they stretch out in bed together. He notices the flash of gold on his left hand as he pulls the covers up over them. "Your ring," he says, reaching up to take it off.

Bill takes it and puts it on again, but he slides his fingers through Sean's and squeezes hard. "Didn't look half bad on you," he says, very quietly, looking down at their hands.

Sean doesn't answer, but he squeezes back every bit as hard.

-end-