“You’re perfect like this,” Elias said gently, cradling Jon’s head. Jon had recently had the back of his hair clipped short again, and Elias indulged his fingertips in ruffling the rabbit-soft salt-and-pepper fuzz.
Jon moaned harmlessly around the metal filling his mouth as it pressed on his tongue. Elias tilted the barrel down slowly until the top of it clacked against Jon’s teeth. Jon’s pupils blew impossibly wider. His eyes crossed to anxiously gape at the rear sight of the full size 1911 before flitting up from beneath dark lashes, first to Elias’s crotch at face level, and then to meet Elias’s gaze. Beads of perspiration were beginning to form on Jon’s temples, glistening against the strands of silver there, and Elias smiled fondly. He could almost taste the salt as he imagined licking up Jon’s cheek in one long, languid stroke.
“Doesn’t it feel amazing, Archivist?” Elias asked softly. “To be so full of fear, and to simply let it happen?” Elias nudged Jon’s thighs apart with his foot and offered his shin to the straining front of Jon’s trousers. Elias wondered with some amusement if Jon even noticed how he shot forward to lock his hips onto Elias’s leg. Jon hadn’t even strayed from eye contact as his lower half ground for relief seemingly of its own accord.
“Doesn’t it feel right?” Elias murmured. “To feed our god on your knees, and to allow me to fill you to the brim with that which feeds it?”
Jon mumbled some manic attempt at a reply, and felt his saliva start to flow around the greasy metal. He made an irritated sound as he sucked to swallow spit, still too proud to let himself drool all the way down his chin. “Exquisite creature,” Elias breathed, committing to memory the vision of the way Jon’s cheeks hollowed out when he accommodated Elias feeding something past his lips. Elias rewarded him by rocking the top of his leather loafer up and down the pulsing rock-hardness of Jon’s cock. Jon whimpered.
The tone of Elias’s voice dropped to something more human, even tender. “You’re so good, Jon,” he said. Elias had ordered Jon to take off his shoes and socks before kneeling, and Elias felt unexpectedly warmed when he saw Jon’s toes curl adorably from the compliment. As if all that had happened so far hadn’t been delicious enough, Elias gasped when Jon wiggled forward almost imperceptibly to take more of Elias’s weapon, not being prompted or forced. Jon had shakily reached one arm behind his ass to assist him in better arching his back, thus eagerly delivering easy access into his throat. “I’m so proud to have you,” Elias said in a reverent hush.
It wasn’t that Jon trusted Elias now. His fear had not subsided. Rather, he let more of it flow back to Elias on his own terms—gifted, not stolen—and in this context, it was all the sweeter for it.
“I wonder what scares you more, Jon,” Elias whispered gratefully, “that I could kill you right now, or that you’re powerless to even Ask why?”
