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"I bet I could fit the whole thing in my mouth."
The confidence in Gilbert's words alone had Nikola morbidly curious as he turned the Makarov over in his hand.
"I don't doubt that you could," he said. "But why?"
Gilbert gave him a look. "You know what I'm here for."
He was kneeled between Gilbert's pale legs, who had arrived in uniform, and then somehow shed most of it in the hour since he'd stepped across Nikola's threshold. Nikola was still clad in his, though. Gilbert wouldn't let him take it off, not even the holster, which was how they had ended up in this situation in the first place, pistol in hand on his bed.
All the blankets had been shoved aside, but a stack of pillows behind Gilbert's back propped him up against the old headboard. His shirt, tie, jacket, and everything else had been folded neatly and set aside—but his boots remained.
Nikola was not ashamed to admit that they were hot. They nearly went up to his knees, and fit well. No excessive scrunching of leather, the shape of his calves accentuated nicely; heeled red soles and red laces running tight up the material. They were clean, too, polished, shiny and black, more for show than any of the typical activity uniform boots would be expected to perform.
Nikola liked this. And he knew Gilbert knew it, too, because as he fiddled with the gun he adjusted his long legs until his heels were digging into the back of Nikola's hips, trying to pull him closer.
"Come onnnnn," he teased, and he had that typical shit-eating grin on his face, but his eyes were colored intensely by anticipation. "You should load it."
Nikola nudged his ammo pouch. "There's nothing in here."
"Okay, well, that makes it way less hot."
Nikola let out a bark of surprised laughter. It was amazing that Gilbert still had such a propensity for danger despite his lack of healing, which was well-known by this point.
"I think you would be into Dimitrie biting your neck," Nikola mused. So would he—the thought of his blood spilling, running in rivulets down his pale skin, made something warm churn in his stomach. "If you ever felt like fucking the both of us. He's open, you know."
"Quit trying to soft-launch a polycule," Gilbert replied. His thighs tensed, and his heels dug more harshly into the bones of his hips. "Now put the gun in my mouth, Niklas."
He made a face. "Don't call me that."
"You know, the East German Mak looked better." Gilbert ignored him, head listing to the side like he was suddenly bored. "But I don't like little sissy pistols anyway."
"Ah, you like swords, don't you?" Nikola's voice was wry as he reconsidered loading the gun. "Very old-school, very classic. Until you die from machinegun fire."
Gilbert mimed stabbing something. "Swords look sexy, though."
"Didn't you just tell me, five minutes ago, that the gun is sexy?" And then they'd crawled into bed together, more armed than Nikola had anticipated when Gilbert had shown up on his doorstep after ominously texting him to 'be in uniform when i get there'.
"I thought it was loaded! Without bullets it's just a tiny little toy." Gilbert's lips curled into a smirk. "You could change my mind, though. It's not about size, it's about how you use it, right?"
Nikola snorted at the double-entendre. He adjusted the pistol, the grip in his hand more comfortable after he'd personally modified it a few years back. His finger twitched near the trigger; he felt as though his discipline had gotten a lot worse over the years. At least neither of them could die, as exciting as that would be. Maybe he should load it...
Gilbert was watching each adjustment, eyes flicking to follow even the tiniest of movements. Loaded or no, he had already given him an idea for how to use it on him. When Nikola finally reached over with his right hand to grab a fistful of pale hair, it didn't even take that much force to drag the other's face close to the gun.
He practically shoved his tip against Gilbert's lips, which looked so soft and pink under the warm lighting of Nikola's bedroom. The other man grinned, even as the cool metal pressed against his teeth, and stuck his tongue out to drag it slowly along the underside of the barrel.
His cock twitched in the confines of his pants at this lewd display. Of course he didn't need much prompting—Gilbert knew exactly what to do with someone trying to enter his mouth like this.
Nikola moved the gun lower, leading with the muzzle. Gilbert chased after it, so Nikola tugged, but he resisted against Nikola's grip in his hair. He wrapped his lips around the Makarov, red eyes glancing up to meet his, already full of challenge, and he didn't dare to try and pull him away again.
Gilbert seemed eager to lavish the pistol with attention, kissing its tip with much use of his tongue. The familiar sight of it, pink and wet as it traced the contours of metal, was enough to make Nikola's blood run hot in his veins.
He pressed it harder against his tongue until Gilbert's lips parted in silent obedience so that Nikola could force himself inside. He pulled at Gilbert's hair until his head was at a better angle to take the barrel into his mouth, and the other man sank low into the pillows as Nikola shoved it down his throat, up until the trigger guard.
The Makarov was a small pistol, so it wasn't much, length-wise, but Gilbert still hollowed his cheeks and sucked like it was Nikola's cock he was tasting, and he was definitely getting hard now, fuck.
Gilbert, spread before him, adjusted his position a bit—until suddenly the sharp toe of his left boot was pressing into Nikola's groin, which had his hips bucking at the unexpected touch.
In his surprise Nikola's arm had involuntarily moved, the barrel sliding out from between Gilbert's spit-slick lips. Before he could thrust back into him Gilbert grabbed Nikola's wrist and tugged, breath ghosting across the tips of his index and middle fingers—which were resting under the trigger guard—and took them into his mouth.
The muzzle was pressed into Gilbert's cheek now, the weight of the pistol now largely supported by Nikola's palm and ulnar digits, but he didn't seem to care as he took Nikola up to the second knuckle, mouth hot and so, so wet as he tongued at his fingers.
Nikola couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight, even as the toe of his boot was replaced by his wider, harder, heel. Gilbert shoved himself roughly against Nikola's crotch, dragging the ridged sole across his clothed cock with the right amount of pressure—so even when he managed to press into his sac, all Nikola felt was delicious, delicious friction.
Gilbert's blunt nails dug into Nikola's wrist as he suckled on his fingers, seemingly going out of his way to make the most obscene slurping noises he was capable of, and Gilbert was capable of a lot. His eyes had drifted shut, the tips of his long, pale lashes touching the high planes of his cheeks, spit dripping down his chin, and Nikola was certainly on the verge of losing his self-control.
Spindly fingers traced from his wrist, to his forearm—then over to his chest, and finally down to the belt around his waist. For a moment he thought Gilbert was going to unbuckle it, and then he'd really have no choice but to hook the man's legs over his shoulders and fuck him six ways to Sunday—but instead he just tugged. Hard, with purpose, and he quickly realized it was because he was trying to get Nikola to thrust up against polished leather.
Nikola rolled his hips, his right hand sliding up Gilbert's left leg. The material beneath his fingers was warm to the touch, much like the wet heat still engulfing the digits of his other. He hooked his fingers beneath tight red laces, and in response Gilbert intensified the pressure against him.
Even through the layers of his uniform, the hard, textured tread of his boot was an exciting sensation to rut against—at least for now, while he was occupied.
He realized that Gilbert had started stroking his own cock, tip already leaking pre. His head was flushed red, balls twitching in pleasure as he made filthy sounds around Nikola's fingers. He didn't know how he could be so aroused just from this, without any direct contact, but, well, Nikola had gathered over time that Gilbert very much liked having his mouth used. Especially by a man in uniform.
He pulled his fingers from Gilbert's mouth, and the slick pop that followed had him rubbing himself more desperately against his sole. He was surely making a complete mess of his underwear by this point; he felt just as wet as Gilbert looked.
The other man was panting lightly, looking up at Nikola through heavy-lidded eyes. He found it difficult to swallow.
"What do you want?" he eventually managed to ask. He hoped Gilbert didn't have an answer. He had a lot of thoughts about what he would like to do to Gilbert's body right now.
"I want you inside me," Gilbert sighed out, breath hot against his inner wrist. He turned his head, lips pressing into the side of the Makarov, where Nikola's spit-soaked fingers curled up against the grip. He grinned lecherously. "Gun or cock. Take your pick, Niklas."
That nickname again. Gilbert wanted Nikola's cock; he was trying to incense him, to get Nikola to pin him down by the hips and give him exactly what he came for. He wasn't going to fall for such easy bait and give into him. Not yet, at least.
Gilbert's grip had loosened on his belt. Nikola slipped his fingers out from beneath crimson laces and grabbed at his sharp wrist, bringing Gilbert's fingers up to his own lips. They were warm, and long—not as long as Dimitrie's, but it would be difficult to take them all the way without triggering his gag reflex. Luckily, Nikola was also skilled with his mouth.
He took his fingers all the way down to their base, salivating on purpose to wet them as much as possible. In response Gilbert dug sharply into him with his heel, stepping against the underside of his cock and his balls—earning a groan from Nikola that rumbled around the digits heavy against his tongue.
When he pulled Gilbert's fingers from his mouth, he leaned closer, dropped his voice an octave and ordered,
"Fuck yourself."
"Yes," Gilbert breathed, eyes clouded with lust as he spread his right leg wider to expose himself more, "sir."
Nikola watched him for just a couple of seconds to make sure he was being obedient; his left hand was still pumping his cock, and his right middle finger was soon pushing into that tight ass of his. Satisfied, he leaned further forward, tracing the tip of the Makarov alongside a pale cheek, touching the corner of his mouth, before pushing past his lips once more.
He wasted no time in shoving it as far as it could go, Gilbert's eyes intense as the barrel slid against his slick tongue. At the trigger guard Nikola paused, before adjusting his hand on the grip, and fucking the gun into him until it was forced past his lips.
The air between them was growing unbearably heated, Nikola grinding his cock against his boot and abusing Gilbert's mouth with the pistol as the other man touched himself. There was no way he was getting the grip in there, and it didn't seem like a good idea, anyway, but for a moment all Nikola could imagine was Gilbert's mouth fully occupied by the weapon. Oh, if only he'd shot it beforehand, warmed it up so it was hot in his mouth, tasting of gunpowder and sweat from Nikola's grip...
He was so, so fucking hard. Humping Gilbert's boot wasn't enough for him anymore.
It was a bit difficult to shove his trousers down with just one hand, and his non-dominant one, at that, but Nikola eventually pulled them down just enough to take his cock into his hands. His fingers were soon soaked with pre, wet and slick, but not nearly as much as the Makarov, Gilbert's eyes shut as he bobbed his head around its unwieldy girth, drool soaking his face.
Gilbert had adjusted his left leg when he realized Nikola was going to jerk himself off, but the sturdy toe of his boot was still digging into the meat of his thigh. They really did look pristine; he wondered if Gilbert had bought these specially for the occasion, or if he just maintained them that well...
His thoughts drifted. Gilbert was making a mess of his gun. He ought to lay his own claim to the only article of his uniform that he was still wearing.
Nikola pulled the gun from Gilbert's mouth, drawing his arm back until it was pointed up at the ceiling. Gilbert's eyes flew open, head jerking a little like he intended to chase after it. Then his eyes flickered down between them, where Nikola was stroking his cock, biting his lower lip hard to keep himself from moaning.
He couldn't tear his gaze away from the perfect view before him; Gilbert thrusting his fingers eagerly into himself, other hand stuttering with pleasure over the head of his cock, the muscles of his thigh tensing up, the criss-cross of blood-colored laces climbing up tightly against a leather-clad leg...
The Makarov tumbled from loose fingers as he came, eyes squeezed shut, and he heard Gilbert groan, maybe in annoyance or satisfaction or some mixture of both, he wasn't sure. When he opened his eyes, after the haze had eventually faded, he saw semen staining leather and the sheets below.
Nikola flashed the other a stupid grin, and Gilbert groaned again.
"Asshole," he said, but his voice had a lustful edge.
A hazy idea suddenly struck. Nikola gripped him tightly by the ankle and lifted his leg, spreading the other man wider before him. Even while not being that active anymore, Gilbert's legs were still nice. He had good calves. Nikola raked his eyes from ankle to hip to admire the view, before leaning to drag his tongue along the leather down to his knee. Lapping up his own cum on leather was more satisfying than he'd initially thought, especially when he heard Gilbert hiss a curse in German.
He let the man's leg drop back down. Nikola leaned over Gilbert again, sticking his own fingers—the ones Gilbert had suckled on not that long ago—into his mouth, finding that Gilbert's taste still remained. He soon pulled them out, and joined them up with Gilbert's right fingers. When he felt the other begin to slide out, Nikola commanded,
"No. Both of us."
"Fuck," Gilbert groaned. He was already flushed all the way down to his throat, but it spread deeper, down to his shoulders, now.
Nikola pushed one of his fingers—not as long as Gilbert's, but certainly thicker—into him, joining his middle three digits. He curled it, with some difficulty, but felt immensely satisfied with the way Gilbert's breathing grew more shallow. The slick sounds of him jerking himself off grew quicker.
It wasn't long before Nikola was trying to force a second finger in, and Gilbert whined as he was stretched open further. The Makarov laid abandoned on the mattress beside them. He entertained the idea of trying to fuck Gilbert with the barrel.
He would look good, speared open on the weapon, and yes, it would be quite shallow, small as it was, but Nikola believed he could drag the muzzle along his prostate. How much would he tremble, being fucked like that, by Nikola in his military uniform with the same pistol he kept in his holster...would his toes curl, even in the boots, especially in the boots, fuck, he would have to make him wear them more often if he was going to continue indulging Gilbert's blatant desire for a commanding officer to fuck his brains out like this....
Gilbert suddenly let out a cry, the hand around his cock jumping up to instead grip the pillows behind his head. He'd come across his chest, three of his fingers and two of Nikola's still plunged inside him. He felt resistance against his digits, and pulled out. Gilbert followed, and the tension in his body released as he settled into the pillows.
Nikola's cock had gotten half-hard again, both from rubbing up against Gilbert's inner thigh and the thought of using the Makarov to penetrate him. He debated initiating a round two, but Gilbert's eyes were squeezed shut, and his chest was still rising and falling rapidly. He could go grab a beer, and then, well—
Nikola had just started to pull away when Gilbert grabbed at his forearms, surprisingly strong given his current state.
"Stay." Even though his voice was throaty, there was a hard, authoritative edge. His eyes were still closed.
Nikola tried to tug out of his grip, but he was only half-trying. "I want to get a drink."
Gilbert wrapped his thighs around his waist then, the sharp heels of his boots once more digging into Nikola's hips. His eyes fluttered open as he trapped Nikola between his legs. They were still bright and intense even after orgasm.
"You're hard again," he noted. When he smiled there was something off about it—not sinister, Nikola would say, but there was definitely some ill intent. That ill intent might be him using Nikola's cock until he was milked dry.
He wasn't opposed to this idea.
"Well," he began, but he was, in fact, very compelled by the argument Gilbert's legs were making. He felt rough tread scrape against him even through his uniform as his thighs squeezed again.
"It's my turn to give orders, isn't it?" Gilbert grabbed at Nikola's cock, and he moaned. "Fuck me."
He carded his fingers through sweaty black hair, debating for maybe a second or two, before reaching for the spit-soaked Makarov. "Gun or cock, right?"
Gilbert's eyes narrowed, and his grin grew wider. "Take your pick."