The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Like a Loaded Gun


The gun is in his mouth, and there’s something about the glint in Chuuya’s eye that makes Dazai react by smiling around the barrel, faint heat curling in his belly, before he works his mouth and tongue around it as though it were a cock. Every second, he watches Chuuya.

It tastes like metal and ash and gunpowder and it’s far too hot, but he’s watching Chuuya and every reaction to the implications of each flick of tongue, the way he sucks down hard, the moment he almost chokes.

A glove works into his hair. His pants are tight, and his skin feels hot. He doesn’t stop, keeps looking up, even when he sees the haze of red glow, feels the gun grow far too heavy, sinking into his mouth too readily. He can barely breathe at all.

Ah, but what a way to go.


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