Work Text:
“You're still a jackass, I want you to know that,” Tim says over his shoulder as he makes his way back to Jack's desk. He turns around, bare ass towards the desk, and hops up onto it, his elbows resting against his knees as he watches Jack approach, the revolver in his hand.
Jack laughs, completely unsympathetic to the fact that he probably just kind-of-sort-of traumatized Tim, and made him terrified of actually losing Jack one day. “Yeah, yeah. You're fine.”
Tim tips his head back as Jack crowds in close to him and settles the revolver on Tim's bare thigh. Tim glances down at it, shuddering as he thinks about how he's about to intimately know what it's like to take a bullet to the skull. “Unfortunately, so are you.”
“Uh-huh. Say what you want, I can tell you've been crying.”
“Was not.”
“You know I hate liars, baby. You're lucky you're so sweet.”
“Why? If I wasn't, would you shoot me in the head?” A mischievous little grin spreads across Tim's face, crooked and playful.
Jack snorts and lifts the gun, waving it at Tim like he's wagging a finger. “Smartass.”
Tim laughs, tipping his chin forward and pressing his lips against Jack's. “Well? You gonna load it?”
“Eager, huh? That's my boy.” Jack gives him another quick kiss before digging into his pocket and pulling out another bullet. He opens the cylinder and slides the bullet in, before giving it a spin and flicking it closed.
“Watching you load a gun you're gonna shoot me with is so sexy.” He dips his head, leaning forwards to nuzzle against Jack's neck and pressing a few kisses just under Jack's ear.
“God, I think I love you.”
Tim laughs and leans back, meeting Jack's eyes with a teasingly disapproving smile on his face. “Stop saying that. You're still just horny.”
Jack just huffs and gives him another kiss, his lips lingering against Tim's for a moment. “One of these times, you'll believe me.”
“Keep dreaming, big guy. I don't think you've got it in you to love anyone.” It was meant as a joke, but as soon as it leaves his mouth, Tim realizes how bad it sounds.
Jack jerks his head back, his eyes going dark and his nostrils flaring. He wraps his fingers around Tim's throat, squeezing just enough to get the threat across, but it just makes Tim shudder, his cock stirring between his legs. “Oh baby, I'm really gonna enjoy killing you.”
And oh, okay, Tim definitely hit a nerve. “Then chop chop, handsome.” Tim leans back, spreading his legs and hooking them around Jack's waist. He feels like maybe he should apologize, but a pissed off Jack will fuck him harder, so then again, maybe not. “Hurry up and get your pants down.”
“Shut the fuck up.” But Jack sets the revolver down on the desk and fumbles with his zipper anyway, so Tim counts that as a win. Jack pops the button on his pants and pushes them down to his thighs, then shoves himself between Tim's legs.
Tim squeezes his legs around Jack's hips, pulling him in closer, and sighs dreamily. “I love when you're all riled up.”
“That's because you're a whore.” Jack pushes Tim's thighs up against his chest, and he wastes no time, spitting into his hand and slicking himself up with it before roughly thrusting all the way into Tim with one quick snap of his hips.
Tim shouts, the sensation just on this side of painful. If he hadn't just been fucked, it might have been worse, but as it is, the treatment makes his dick harder, makes it leak against his belly as he whines and writhes on top of the desk. “Yeah, just like that. You feel so good.”
Jack grabs the gun off the desk and presses the muzzle against Tim's lips. “Open.”
“You better not shoot me until I come,” Tim says, before opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around the gun. Jack pushes it upwards, making the sight dig into the roof of Tim's mouth, causing him to wince.
“I'll shoot you whenever I want to.”
Tim huffs through his nose. Fair enough, though. He should definitely apologize when they're done, but for now, he wants Jack to fuck him stupid, and he wants Jack to blow his brains out.
And Jack doesn't disappoint; he fucks into Tim with harsh, quick thrusts that jostle Tim on the desk, making Tim whine pitifully around the muzzle of the gun. He tongues the hole, the taste of metal and gunpowder almost overwhelming, but he kind of loves it, loves knowing the same gun that put Jack down is going to tear through his skull.
Jack pulls the trigger, and Tim gasps and moans as it clicks, adrenaline rushing through his body and making him feel a little light headed. He stares up at Jack, his eyes wide and his pupils blown as Jack pounds into him.
Jack yanks the gun out of his mouth, the sight clacking against Tim's teeth, and presses the muzzle against Tim's temple. “You're gonna look so pretty with a hole in your head, sweetheart.”
“Aww. And here I thought you were mad at me.”
Jack huffs irritably, then pulls his hand back, before slamming the revolver across Tim's cheek.
Tim screams, arching his back and squeezing his eyes shut, his head tipping back. He can't decide if he wants to call Jack a motherfucker or tell him to do it again, so he settles for whining pitifully, and letting Jack decipher the reaction himself. Involuntary tears well up in Tim's eyes from the overwhelming pain, but he kind of loves it if he's being honest. When he opens his eyes again, he gazes at Jack blearily, blinking away the tears as he reaches for his cock.
Jack bats his hand away though, pinning it to the desk with his free hand. “No touching. You'll come if I let you, capiche?”
Tim groans, and whether it's with arousal or disappointment, even he's not sure. He lifts his other hand, poking at his cheek where the gun made contact, and flinches when it hurts more than expected. Ouch. That's gonna leave a nasty bruise, and he'll be surprised if nothing is fractured.
Jack leans over Tim, bracing himself against the desk as he rocks into him, his thrusts brutal and punishing, his breath harsh and ragged. He's clearly chasing his own pleasure rather than Tim's, but Tim doesn't mind; it feels phenomenal, and he moans each time Jack slams into him, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing off the cavernous walls of Jack's office.
At this pace, it doesn't take long until the tension in Tim's gut builds and builds, until he's so close to snapping that he feels like crying with desperation. He needs something, anything, to push him over the edge, but if Jack won't let him touch himself…
“Jack. Jack, god, pull the trigger again, please? You feel so good, I want-- I need--”
Jack wraps his hand back around Tim's throat, and presses the muzzle of the gun back against Tim's temple. “You want it, baby?”
“Yeah. Yeah, fuck, give it to me. Blow my brains out, I need you.”
“Guess you should have thought about that before you opened your big mouth, huh, pumpkin?” Jack pulls the gun away, pointing it towards the ceiling, and pulls the trigger. Tim flinches just from the sound he expects to feel in his bones, but all that comes out is a metallic click.
“If you waste that bullet, I swear I'm not sleeping with you for a week.”
“Then take it back.”
Which feels like such a juvenile thing to say, so Tim can't help the laugh that bubbles up from his chest. “What?” Jack's fingers squeeze against Tim's carotids, hard enough that Tim immediately feels a little lightheaded, his vision rapidly going dark. It's so arousing that Tim groans softly, his eyes rolling back. “Oh fuck, please, Jack. Please, please, I need it, I need you to shoot me or touch me or something, I'm so close.”
“Say you were wrong. Say it and I'll shoot.”
Tim gasps, his eyes squeezing shut. “I was wrong,’’ he croaks. “I didn't mean it, okay? It was just a joke, I'm sorry, please, just, ohhh my god, Jack, do it, do it, do it.”
And with that, Jack aims the gun right at the middle of Tim's forehead and pulls the trigger.
The gun clicks, but the rush it gives makes Tim shudder, his whole body convulsing as pleasure washes over him, his toes curling as he comes completely untouched, a strangled shout tearing its way out from deep in his chest. Everything feels so-- so-- god, it's indescribable, it's mind blowing, and getting off from a failed gunshot is quite possibly the most powerful orgasm he's ever had.
When he's spent, he falls limp against the desk, his chest heaving, come splattered across his belly. He grins up at Jack, gazing at him with pure adoration. It's then, when he wants nothing more than to reach out and pull Jack closer, that guilt creeps back in; he'd gotten off because he struck a nerve with Jack, and while it had been enjoyable, he really does feel bad. “Hey, I was serious, by the way,” he says between ragged breaths. “I'm sorry. I really am, it was supposed to be a joke. Can you forgive me?”
Jack is quiet for a moment, processing the genuine apology. He sighs, his shoulders visibly relaxing. Tim knows he's lucky, knows that Jack doesn't calm himself down for just anyone, knows that anyone else would have died a very painful death for hitting such a sore spot, but Jack has always been sweet on Tim, and maybe Tim should be a little more grateful for that. “Sure, sweetheart. But first I'm gonna put you down, because you're a little bitch.”
“God, yeah I am. Do it.”
Jack holds the gun out, pressing it up under Tim's jaw, and Tim's heart rate spikes. He's about to die by Jack's hand, and it's exciting, it's terrifying, it's making his dick stir despite the orgasm he just had.
“Any last words, beautiful?”
Tim wraps his fingers around Jack's wrist, holding his gun hand steady as he meets Jack's eyes again. “Yeah. I think I love you, too.”
“No you don't. You're just horny,” Jack says, before pulling the trigger three times in rapid succession.
It must be the last pull that did it, since Tim was alive to register all three, and cold fear washes over him so strongly that he almost feels like tapping out. But before Tim can even blink, there's a searing pain in his skull as the bullet rips through his head. It feels horrible, it feels fantastic, and he can only vaguely register his consciousness fading before his world goes completely black.
---
The next thing Tim knows, he's standing outside of Jack's office, gasping and disoriented, feeling like he just woke up from a particularly arousing bad dream. All that adrenaline is intoxicating, and as soon as he's aware enough to notice, he can feel his cock straining against the pants that had digistructed onto his body when he was resurrected . His head is swimming, his heart is pounding, and he's absolutely positive he wants to do this again sometime, because holy shit, what a rush.
He makes his way down the hall, silently cursing it for being so long, and when the doors slide open, he finds Jack sitting in his chair, fondling himself while he waits for Tim to return.
Tim makes a beeline for Jack and crawls into his lap, not caring that he's interrupting. He takes Jack's face in his hands and kisses him, pouring everything he's feeling into it, all the arousal and the guilt and the devotion, and he doesn't stop until both of them are panting harshly into each other's mouths.
When Tim pulls away, Jack leans back in his chair, a little smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Heya, kiddo. How was it?”
“It was… good. Really good. Wow.”
“Yeah? Maybe I should do it again for good measure. Jackass.”
Tim laughs softly, leaning forward to press their lips together again. “I'm sorry, handsome. I didn't know that was a sore spot for you.”
“Yeah, I know. It's okay. Got it out of my system.”
“So, are we good?”
“Yeah, baby, we're good.”
“Good. Sooo… wanna pistol whip me again before I suck you off? The New-U healed the first bruise you gave me.”
Jack laughs, halfway between amused and incredulous. “Hell yes. God, I think I-- well. You know.”
Tim smiles, feeling warm all over, because he’s starting to believe Jack means it. “Yeah, handsome. I know.”