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Frank was too damn old to have his ass hit the ground this hard.
He hissed through his teeth as lightning shot up his spine and straight to his skull, giving him a hearty reminder of the hurting he was in for come sunrise, mind, body, and soul.
The man who had thrown him through the doors of the saloon leered down at him, but Frank only caught the expression for a half second before his eyes were forced to focus on the pistol being shoved into his face.
"Why the hell do you keep dragging your sorry corpse back here, anyway?" The leering man, whose name Frank probably did know, tilted his head with mock inquisitiveness. "Haven't you learned a damn thing by now?"
Frank parted his lips to speak, but no words came. Breath from his open mouth fogged the polished black iron, aided by the cold night air.
His eyes flicked back to it, tracing the barrel. It wasn't a half bad gun, looked well used, but it wasn't anything special either. It was actually a little disappointing, he found, to be held at gunpoint by something so standard.
The man must've seen him deflate, because a moment later he surged forward, thrusting the gun into Frank's teeth with a hard, painful clack.
"The hell's that look for, huh?! Are you bored?"
Marlon chuckled a little, weak but not nearly nervous enough. "Aw c'mon, brother, what'd I ever do to you? Cut me some slack h-"
The gun surged forward again, this time between his teeth and straight into his tongue, pinning it painfully to his jaw.
"Oh shut the fuck up," the man snarled, though the humor didn't leave his face even as his voice oozed with contempt. "Slack's the one thing you've had just too damn much of, brother. It's well past time we cut you loose."
Saliva welled up in Marlon's mouth enough for the muzzle to break friction on his tongue and slip deeper into his mouth, front sight bumping the entrance to his throat and drawing forth a deeply pathetic noise.
The man blinked down at him once, twice, three time, before face erupted into vicious glee. "Oh yeah?" He leaned forward, further into Marlon's space, and pressed his gun down with slow but sure insistence.
Frank's eyes fluttered and unfocused as he tried to angle his head to better accept it, but he couldn't help but gag and dry heave as it scraped just the wrong way.
His head pulled back reflexively, but fingered tangled with his hair and gripped him in place.
A throaty whine rattled out of him, and his stomach churned dangerously, but his mouth seemed to adjust quickly.
The fingers released their tension as he stopped pulling back, migrating downward to take hold of his jaw. The man's other hand twisted to face its palm inwards, parallel to his belly, so the front sight would stop its conflict with Marlon's throat.
Frank's eyes opened fully for a brief moment in which he caught sight of the man's look of total focus, brows knit and face flushed as breath slipped between his teeth. In that same moment, Frank's lips and tongue closed around the shaft of the weapon, working it as if the rapidly warming metal could feel a damn lick of it. Blame it on the stale Wind Turkey he'd scrounged up earlier in the evening, but it wouldn't really have matter whether he was sober or not.
Although, if he'd had more fight in him it might've been the bullet finding its way inside him, in far less forgiving ways. If he's gonna be sucking something, though, he'd really have preferred the taste of cum to gunpowder.
Speaking of, Frank could feel the man's erection nudging against the base of his neck through the scratchy fabric of his pants as he edged closer and closer. "That's it, just like that," he praised breathily as Marlon's lips met the gun's cylinder, evidently having momentarily forgotten the circumstances leading up to the moment.
Frank moaned low in response and promptly choked, as the three inches of iron down his throat and three more on his tongue caught the vibrations unpleasantly. He wouldn't pull away though, only forcing himself to take deeper, whatever minuscule length had been left untouched, as he fought to control the throat spasms.
Nails bit hard into Frank's cheek as the man groaned deep in his chest, laced with desperation, and he slid the hard length of his revolver barrel free from Frank's throat.
Frank, for his part, was grateful for the reminder that he does in fact need to breathe to live, pulling in deep, shaky gasps of air even as the man muffled them with his bulge. He mouthed at it willingly, inhibitions long since abandoned.
"Hey," the man said with condescending faux-sympathy over his shoulder to his stockier companion. "Poor man's down on his luck, I say we give the old bastard a chance to earn his money, yeah?"
Frank had, admittedly, forgotten that the other man was even there. Judging by the startled expression on his face, the same was true for the fellow himself. He had evidently watched the whole thing, as the hot color of his face and the tenting of his pants were visible even in the dim light that trickled out from the saloon.
The shorter, broader man cleared his throat and self-consciously tapped the brim of his hat, which had evidently become dislodged at some point and now sat crooked on his head.
"You always were the generous type, huh," he said playfully, and sprung forward to lift Frank by the scruff.
Being led to the back alley behind the bar, secluded from the street and lit only by a small window that was too far above their heads to see much into, should likely have been much more distressing than it was. Unfortunately, however, clarity of mind did not currently name among Frank Marlon's traits.
The taller man, the first one, sat himself down on a crate and undid the bindings of his pants, pulling the waistband down til his cock sprang unceremoniously free.
He gestured for his companion to bring Frank closer, and Marlon quickly found himself inhaling the scent of flesh and sex.
Frank began to kneel, but he was pulled back up by the waist. At the same time that the tall man's cock slid into his mouth and the taste of sweat onto his tongue, he felt on his other end his own pants being pulled down.
The chill hitting his skin was enough to send a bolt cold clarity through his body, but at this point there was little he could do but let the dread commingle with the animal desire in his belly till the hot haze closed back in.
The stout man kneaded what little fat remained on his bony hips with firm, warm hands, allowing brief comfort before he felt the tip of another cock press against him.
His eyes blew open, but all he could see was the dull blur of color where the tall man's pelvis ought to be as he dragged his head back towards it, so he squeezed his eyes shut.
There was a smear of wetness across the thing, and though he couldn't look back to see what it was, it was immediately obvious even through his lack of experience that it would be insufficient.
It was evidently enough for his penetrator, though, because he began to slowly sink his thickness into Frank's woefully underprepared ass.
It hurt, quite a bit actually. It stung, then burned, then ached, then stung again twice as sharp as the man began to thrust into him.
The sensation was almost too much for him to take any pleasure, but the sounds of men groaning all around him, of the wet slip of saliva and precum, the throbbing heat against his tongue, the whistle of wind in the street, they nearly pushed it out of his mind entirely.
He lifted a shaking hand to paw at his own groin, but the tall man kicked it away before he could make contact.
The man made a chiding, patronizing noise. "Ah-ah, we're doing you a favor, remember? You don't get to do that." His weight shifted as he presumably made some sort of gesture, and a moment later Frank felt the stout man's hands seize his upper arms.
The hands slid to his wrists, pulling his arms up to be pinned against his back, forcing it into a hard arch that had the stout man driving into his prostate with each thrust.
He half groaned, half whimpered; a long, ragged keening sound, which turned sharply into a yelp as the tip of the tall man's boot made contact with his bare cock.
It wasn't all that pleasant—the harsh, coarse material dragged uncomfortably as I the top of the shoe moved to cup the underside of his length in its toe curve. Even so, the sensation of any touch at all at such a time was enough to inject something molten into his body.
Marlon came shortly thereafter, orgasm and sob racking his body in equal measure as the two men continued their paces unbothered by his squirming and whining.
Continued, for quite some time that is.
The tall man came second, far enough down Frank's throat that he couldn't spit it out if he tried. Marlon tried to pull back and free his mouth once the twitching had slowed, but the man just shoved his head back down, earning another choke which he of course did not acknowledge.
The only change was, he no longer thrust or pulled Marlon's head this way or that; he just sat still, buried to the hilt in Frank's mouth.
In many ways, this was far more difficult than being active. The lack of movement meant there was far less distraction from the pain: his whole body ached, his legs and back trembled violently, but most severe was his jaw, which had been forced open for much longer than anything else.
Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, and between them and the saliva that dribbled down the tall man's balls and dripped onto the dusty ground, he felt terribly dehydrated.
Thankfully, the stout man was finally pumping hot cum into his aching ass, which he felt oozes out and drip onto his pants as both men pulled out and let him fall to the ground.
He made no attempt to stand, and neither offered to help him as they stepped over him back out into the open.
"Well," the tall man began, teeth flashing in the dark as he grinned. "I'd say you've more than earned this." He flicked a coin over to where Frank had risen blearily to a sitting position.
Both men watched closely as he caught the coin with disappointing ease, and disappeared around the corner and back onto the main street with a huff and not another word.
Frank looked down. He couldn't really see the coin, but he could tell what it was from the weight and feel in his palm.
It was half the price of a bottle of Turkey. Exactly half.
He weighed in his mind whether he though that meant he was supposed to come back a second time, or if they would actually put a bullet in him if he tried.
Maybe both.
Probably both.
In any case, he had been thoroughly thwarted.
Even if I found another coin on the road right now, he thought as he crawled over to the wall to lift himself back to his unsteady feet. If any barkeep in town saw the way I'm walking they'd knock me flat on my ass before I could even ask.
As Frank stepped out onto the road, he became aware the moment the breeze hit his skin, damp with half dried tears and saliva, and sticky with sweat of both exertion and fear, that he was very, very cold.
Unable to run, he settled for the slow dragging of his ragged body back to his disgusting apartment, and hoping not for the first time that tomorrow would gift him someone who would actually just buy him a damn drink.