Sam dragged the Colt’s muzzle along Dean’s bottom lip.
“You like this?” He sounded shy when he asked it—scared.
Dean nodded, flicking his tongue out to lick the cold steel. His heart hammered in his chest, his cock strained desperately against the fly of his jeans, and he only got hotter seeing Sam look so nervous.
“Stick it in, Sammy.”
He hesitated, eyebrows furrowed, but caved to Dean’s request and slid the barrel past his lips. Dean moaned as Sam fucked into his mouth with it, infected his mouth with a sickening metallic taste.
Sam slid it in and out, really making Dean blow the thing and seeming uncomfortable with the wet sounds of his brother’s mouth on the gun. Really, Sam should have thought of it as a workaround: put his mouth on something just as sacred and off-limits as Sam’s cock was and only slightly more dangerous.
He pulled the barrel out after a minute of watching Dean sucking it, fear in his wide eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and moved the gun back to his lips, hard eyes locked on his.
“No matter what, keep your finger on the trigger.”