Work Text:
Jake barrels into the English-Strider residence with all the grace of an injured elephant, as per usual. He tosses the grocery bags onto the counter and starts unpacking them, shoving the meat into the freezer and putting the milk in its rightful spot when he hears Dirk calling for him.
“Hold on one cotton picking minute, man, I’ve barely set foot past the door jamb and you’re already hounding me.” He manages to stuff the produce into the fridge before Dirk’s ridiculous, seductive sing-song pulls him out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom.
“If this is anything short of an emergency or-” Dirk never gets to hear the threat in its entirety. The silence Jake falls into is so uncharacteristic that Dirk almost breaks character. He manages to cock a brow instead of laughing, and Jake’s face heats up in combination with the gaping mouth he’s sporting.
Jake’s thought processes go from ninety miles an hour to a very inebriated crawl in less than three seconds. His heart is like an animal inside his chest, clawing at his ribs and desperate for an escape, saliva worked into a froth and flecking bits against its muzzle as it snarls and dear fucking lord in heaven he didn’t know they made underwear that small.
He’s distantly aware that his face is as red as the rising sun, which is an effective metaphor for the current goings-on in his trousers. He snaps his jaw shut and hopes that it’s enough to hide how scrambled his brain is. He tries to put together his thoughts, but they explode in a spray of vowels and consonants when Dirk smirks, smug and salacious and fucking filthy, and drags the barrel of Jake’s handgun down the central furrow of his abdomen. Dirk’s muscles are clenched tight and Mother Theresa’s fucking wimple that is sinful, his body was made to tempt angels away from their posts.
Dirk is pretty clearly trying not to laugh and break the weird tiny-underwear-and-a-pistol spell. Jake grinds his teeth and leans against the doorway. Dirk rolls his hips and the movement makes his thighs tense, the muzzle of a gun pulling the hem of his underwear down over sculpted hipbones. Christ on a cracker, how can bodies move like that, he’s like a fucking belly dancer.
“Nice duds.” Jake's voice is shaky. Dirk’s smirk grows into a grin.
“I bought them with a special someone in mind.” He arches a brow over the dark lenses of his shades. Jake swallows hard and tries to ignore the suddenly throbbing growth in his shorts.
“I’m certain they’ll really appreciate it.”
“I’m pretty certain I already see where he stands on the matter.” Dirk tucks one of the pistols into his underwear. The elastic traps the swollen head of his erection and Jake bites down hard on his bottom lip. There are bruises on Dirk’s thigh in the shape of Jake’s mouth. The darkest is just above his knee, but there’s one peeking out right at the crux of his legs that really catches his eye.
“Are you going to stand and stare all day?” Jake’s mind is wandering down Dirk’s chest and into those impossibly small ginch.
“There are, uh. Groceries.” Dirk smooths a hand down his chest and dips his fingers past the underwear’s edge. Jake watches the progression and swallows hard, lips open and red from biting.
“The sodding groceries can wait.” Jake’s brain freezes from the unfamiliar curse in Dirk’s mouth and something fond blooms in his chest, something warm and comfortable from the idea that he has made such an impression on Dirk that he’s adopted his favorite swears.
The moment passes and Jake is on him like an animal, tearing his shirt off and tossing his specs onto the floor with the kind of abandon only a dude with a really hard dick obtains. Everything is blurred at the edges without his glasses, but it’s a nonissue because he’s biting the edge of Dirk’s navel and licking the grooves of his stomach. The pistol in his underwear digs into Jake’s thigh and he groans against Dirk’s ribs. He shivers from the sudden press of cold metal against the hollow behind his ear and Dirk pulls the hammer back.
“I don’t think so, English. On your knees.” Jake resists the urge to respond that he’s already on his knees, douche nugget, and does what Dirk says. He’s slow, limbs like dripping molasses as he gets himself out of Dirk’s lap and on his knees. Dirk follows him with the gun, stroking it down his spine when his ass is in the air.
“Good boy.” It’s infuriating and humiliating and Jake twitches in his shorts when he says it. Dirk rocks his hips against the swell of Jake’s ass and Jake can feel the heat of Dirk’s erection beside the unforgiving steel of his handgun. Dirk sets the second pistol on the mattress and Jake doesn’t bother trying to grab it, just looks over his shoulder and pants as Dirk wraps his arms around Jake’s hips and fiddles with his belt buckle.
Jake sighs as Dirk pulls his shorts down around his knees, his dick free from its khaki prison and smearing precome against his stomach. Dirk’s hands are warm on his skin. Dirk’s shades have been removed and Jake wishes he hadn’t thrown his glasses off so carelessly when Dirk’s eyes catch his and he presses a kiss to one of the dimples in Jake’s back.
Dirk’s fingers stroke down Jake’s ass, fingers brushing feather light over his entrance and pressing against his perineum and ghosting over his scrotum to make a loose fist around his erection.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Dirk laughs and plants a kiss on Jake’s ass cheek. Jake digs his front teeth into his bottom lip again when Dirk rolls his hips against Jake’s thigh, the butt of the gun bumping his balls. The pad of Dirk’s thumb is almost harsh on the tip of Jake’s dick after the deliberate, teasing gentleness from before. It makes Jake’s hips jerk forward, gasping into the crook of his elbow. Jake can feel him smile against the meat of his ass and groans in objection when he lets go of Jake’s erection.
“Fucking cum biscuits, you’re infuriating.” Dirk chokes on a laugh.
“I’ll remind you that I’m the one with the gun here.” Jake’s response is to grumble incoherently.
Dirk’s mouth against his entrance makes Jake moan outright, and Dirk mentally congratulates himself before sucking a wet kiss against him. He licks up Jake’s balls and over his perineum before fluttering his tongue against Jake’s hole and is rewarded by the sweetest moan to ever crack in the pinnacle of it’s crescendo. He retrieves the pistol from underwear that really can’t be considered anything but panties and proceeds to stroke the skin-warmed muzzle against the delicate skin of Jake’s inner thighs.
Dirk works Jake open on his tongue until he’s squeezing down on it, until Jake is moaning more than he is breathing, thighs trembling from the strange application of sensation that leaves him with no direct dick stimulation. There’s a wet patch on the bed from precome drooling out of the tip of his poor, neglected cock. Dirk rocks his own ignored erection against the back of Jake’s thigh as he pulls back. He presses the gun against Jake’s softened opening. Jake’s gasp echoes through the inside of his skull and he pulls back the hammer.
“Please.” His tone is desperate, already broken. Dirk grins and it’s lecherous.
“Already begging?” Jake’s retort is a high pitched whine. He never was any good at containing himself when it came to bulletproof kinks. Dirk watched Jake’s hips jump with a satisfied grin as he uncapped the lube.
He pressed a single finger in to the knuckle without warning. Jake tensed around his digit and propped himself up on his elbows, watching Dirk drizzle lube and press another finger inside him.
“Lay down.” Jake sneers at him before an abrupt jab to his prostate makes him furrow his brows and cry out.
“Fuck that, someone has to supervise you back there.” Dirk levels the gun at Jake’s face before using it to gesture to the mattress.
“Face down.” Jake whimpers and collapses into the mattress. Dirk works him open with a third finger before slicking the barrel of the gun with water-based lubricant, thanking whichever deity would listen for waterproof guns.
Jake shudders and groans when Dirk presses the gun to his entrance. Dirk kisses the small of his back before slowly, carefully pressing it inside. He kisses the small of Jake’s back and presses himself against Jake’s thigh, watching the gun inch inside his shaking, keening boyfriend.
Jake is completely undone by the time the trigger guard is pressed against his skin. He feels like he has a belly full of pistol and the uneven surface of the barrel makes his dick jump between his legs. Dirk wraps his forefinger and thumb tight around Jake’s erection before pumping the gun inside of him, going slow to keep his insides safe from micro-tears. Jake is nearly sobbing from stimulation. Dirk pulls the hammer back once more and watches Jake’s muscles tense beneath his dark skin, the way goosebumps spread over his skin like a forest fire.
Jake is loose and his throat is starting to itch from moaning by the time Dirk pulls the gun out. He sets it aside and lets his death grip on the base of Jake’s erection relax. Jake is trembling from his thighs to his shoulders when Dirk flips him onto his back. He shimmies up Jake’s body and straddles his thick chest, pulling his own red dick from its tight confines and prodding Jake’s mouth with the head. Jake glares and keeps his mouth shut, shaking his head; Jake is nothing if not true to his character, bless him. Dirk presses the muzzle of the clean gun against the pulse in Jake’s neck.
“Open up.” Jake is on his cock in a moment, tongue wet and insistent. He sucks and Dirk groans deep in his throat, threading his fingers through Jake’s hair and guiding him down. Jake’s hands are hot on his thighs and his fingers are stroking over the soft fabric of his underwear. He snaps the elastic and Dirk thrusts forward, mouth open in a silent moan.
The gun is tossed aside and Dirk throws Jake’s legs over his shoulders. He fumbles with the lube and Jake grabs it, squirting it into his own palm and gripping Dirk’s length. He pulls Dirk down by the back of his neck and bites his bottom lip and Dirk presses himself inside.
“Oh, fucking hell.” Dirk laughs against Jake’s mouth and kisses him, rocking his hips with slow, even thrusts. Jake’s noise could be classified as a scream when Dirk slams himself back inside, fucking him hard and fast before angling his thrusts. He grins when he gets the right spot and Jake clenches down on him. Everything is hot and wet and tight, burning friction and Jake’s ridiculous cursing being muttered into Dirk’s ear.
When Jake comes, it’s without any helping hands. He looks almost surprised and Dirk raises his eyebrows before Jake tightens around him. Dirk pulls out and comes across Jake’s chest, arching over him and panting. He kisses Jake’s forehead, his slack mouth, and collapses onto the mattress beside him.
They curl together in small increments, exhausted but still craving contact with one another’s skin. Dirk brushes sweaty hair from Jake’s forehead and kisses the corner of his mouth.
“You’re looking pretty lost, dude,” Dirk says, shifting and making himself comfortable, head pillowed on Jake’s broad shoulder.
“I’m still trying to comprehend the fact that you dicked me into orgasm.” Dirk laughs into the crook of Jake’s neck.
“I know, that shit’s my crowning glory. I’ll never live up to what just happened here.” Jake kisses his hair.
“You’re right. You won’t.”
“Oh, make more chicken noises, cockboy.”
“Excuse me, Strider? I think I just heard you state that I sound like a hen during coitus.”
“I couldn’t tell if you were having an orgasm or laying an egg.” Jake’s expression is one of mock outrage when he attempts to smother Dirk with a pillow.
Dirk is still laughing when he follows Jake into the shower ten minutes later.
(He only wishes he could have caught Jake’s expression on video when, a week later, he leaves a rubber chicken under his pillow.)