No seriously. That’s the name of the fic.
Title: Trigger Warning
Pairing: MorMor, Moriarty/Moran
Rating: NC-…17… (gunplay, edgeplay, sex, foreign object insertion)
The taste of metal was altogether not wholly unappealing. Tangy and bitter, and incredibly cold. Fresh from the holster, and slowly warming.
His tongue slicked over the silencer, the challenge presented…and he was more than willing to meet it. Usually when someone was presented with a gun to their temple, the response was not to turn your head and kiss it. Even less so to mouth around it, slide your tongue along the length of it, test the feel of cool steel …
But that was precisely the activity Jim’s mouth was engaged in, practically eye-fucking with his hired man as he gave a long, lavishing lick up the smooth metal that composed the silencer.
It had begun as an insult. It often did. James Moriarty knew how to pick at anyone’s scabs. He could rip them right off when he wanted to, and lick at the wounds. Today was no different, aside from the events that followed.
Nonetheless, Sebastian wasn’t exactly certain of what that insult had even been any more. All he knew was that his boss had said something unsavory, and he had pulled the pistol out. It had been pressed, tight, silenced, against Jim’s temple, and before he could process the tiny, moaning, mewled words that had poured out of the psychopath’s mouth,
he was watching those same lips play over his firearm in a more lewd fashion than even he could imagine.
And it made him incredibly hard.
Jim was aware.
His hand found that hardness, ratting him out as he squeezed Sebastian’s cock tighter through the dress slacks than the sniper would normally like. But this was Jim, and Jim wasn’t normal. Fucking with Jim wasn’t normal. And that was perfectly alright with Moran, though he never voiced his acceptance.
Even pinned against a wall, Moriarty was clearly the composer of the situation. He knew exactly what each flick of his tongue would do to the other man. He knew perfectly well how much it was going to drive him mad when he finally wrapped his lips around that silencer, smirking and winking. Not only did he know, he could feel, his fingers within those pressed slacks now, toying with the impressive arousal therein.
And Sebastian was starting to come apart. It was a beautiful sight to behold: when the man’s gun hand actually wavered, when uncertainty flooded his wide, wide eyes, and he became an animal, slave to the lust that was creeping into his tightly-sinewed body.
That same body was pressed tight up against Moriarty’s after a bit more of the attention to his cock. “…Are you worshipping my pistol, boss?”
Jim’s tongue slaked out over his lips, letting his mouth remain open for several moments before he responded. “It’s dangerous and shiny, Mr. Moran. How could I not?” That same tongue emerged from his still-parted, just slightly, giving the semblance of someone overtaken by urges of hunger. His head lunged forward to play with the silencer again.
Moran’s teeth pressed forward and caught Moriarty’s tongue, using that tight bite as leverage to drag the other man into a kiss. There was nothing gentle about this relationship. Nothing soothing, nothing of comfort, just wounds and wounds and all the things you could push into them. Jim kissed back savagely, and always with his eyes open, always countering any assault on him viciously, no matter how welcome it was.
One leg, slightly more lithe than Sebastian’s own, wrapped about his waist. The sniper shoved Jim back, shaking his head quickly as his hands flew to the other man’s suit, piecing it apart, which gained him several bites on his neck and hissing comments. “That’s fucking expensive, you know…that will wrinkle on the floor. You can’t just go an—“
Lips meshed in another kiss, and the string of complaints was gone. Instead, Seb pressed his boss against the wall once more, welcoming the bared legs that tangled around his waist this time, grinding him into the surface that was now rough against the consulting criminal’s shoulders. When their lips finally separated, Jim spoke. “Give it back. Now.”
The sniper smirked, and obliged. “This is going to be a massive pain in the ass to clean up.” He pressed the gun to the other man’s lips, watching, entranced, as he sucked on the end of the silencer, both of them grinning like jesters in court. He fisted his hand around Moriarty’s cock and tugged, hard, rewarded with a groan from the slighter man that rose goosebumps from both sets of skin involved.
Enough playing around.
Letting his boss’s mouth remain involved with his weapon, he shifted his hand down to unfasten his slacks, tugging out his own erection. Noticing that motion, Jim smirked and pulled back. “You going to fuck me? Are you going to be good and ask for permission this time?” His words were met with a guttural snarl, and Moriarty laughed as he was thrown down onto the couch. Pinned on his back, he still grinned like a fool up at his hired gun, even as his body shuddered due to the firearm that was being slowly rubbed against his chest, dragged down his body, brushed up against his straining sex that was already reddened and slick with his pre-spending. It nudged against his ass, and suddenly that grin doubled in understanding.
“Oh…you’re a sick bastard, Sebby.”
The preparations were quick. They had to be, or Sebastian was going to come, right there and then, watching the way that Jim curled, thrashed, and arched when he fingered him. He was so fucking open, so ready for their disturbing little game. He loved the way he snapped little curses at him every time Seb slowed those fingers, the biting remarks, the hissing and growling and guttural moaning.
He never imagined he’d ever have to slide a condom over the silencer to a pistol. It was good to know that it was possible, he supposed with a smirk, quickly tugging his fingers out of the other man. Jim gave a sound between a whine and a snarl at the sudden vacancy of his body.
The sniper gave a broad smirk, kneeling on the couch, tugging one of Moriarty’s legs over his shoulder. “Oh, shut up.”
With a bit more slick added, the pistol was pushed into the other man’s prepared heat, met by a feral cry that shot out, straight from Jim’s throat. Moran twisted it, delighting in the friction, in the way the weapon was gripped before he started working it within him…Keeping that motion, he leaned over, moving to frot his cock against his Sugar Daddy’s. The sight of that smirking face was almost infuriating, and he had to push it in deeper, which ripped out another deep cry from Moriarty’s mouth, along with echoes of the words from earlier.
Pull the trigger…
It was so dangerous…so bloody dangerous, what they were doing. It was scary and it was hotter than hell.
Pull the trigger…
Jim clawed at the cushions, at the fabric of the couch, then reached to snatch up Seb’s tie and drag him into yet another dizzying kiss, his eyes wide with something that could have been fury were it not for his shuddering howls of bliss.
Twisting the gun deeper into that willing form beneath him, and urged by the harsh clash of whispers and yells that issued from the mouth he wrestled with, Sebastian Moran came, hard, painting the other man’s belly with streaks of his essence. He hated the smirk, the smirk that always accompanied when the sniper came first, the tiny, heated giggles that Jim threw at him…but soon the silencer had him crying much the same way, his own come joining Seb’s, and then they could share the smirk.
Moriarty’s leg lowered, the gun put aside, his giggling resumed. “…You’d best get me a cigarette after that fucking mess.”
Sebastian glanced over his body for several moments. It wasn’t till now, till the aftermath, that he began to really process what had just occurred. His dick was tucked back into his slacks, and like an obedient puppy (an analogy he acknowledged and hated), he fetched a smoke for the other man and lit it, taking a drag himself before pressing it into Jim’s mouth.
The consulting criminal inhaled deeply, and then sat up, wisps curling from his nostrils in an exhale. Nonchalant, he carried on the conversation that had been interrupted earlier by his less-than-tactful namecalling, as if nothing had happened at all.
“So, your next mark…”