(no subject)
Title: Semi-automatic
Word Count: 1,642
Summary: Based on this prompt: Robin is forced to fellate a gun.
a/n: That prompt thread also includes a wonderful art fill by ailea! Check her out. She's cool. Warnings: Gunplay, noncon fellatio, allusions to trauma.
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All he tastes is the weird suffocating flavor of polymer two. It’s everywhere, in the back of his throat and heavy and lasting on his tongue. He hollows his cheeks and breathes hard through his flared nostrils. This is not entirely part of the plan, but it is not entirely outside the boundaries of necessary sacrifices either, so he sticks with it. Don’t think of how the safety’s not on, how the twitch of a single finger could blow his head off, how guns kill and bullets go three hundred and seventy meters per second at the very least.
None of that matters, pales in the face of buying a little more time, keep this guy preoccupied with his new captured hostage, let him think the sole intruder is Robin the Boy Wonder and that he has all the time in the world now. Robin tries to relax his throat a little more as the nozzle reaches far far back but gags despite the effort.
“Now now,” the man lightly scolds, easing the spit-wetted gun out of Robin’s mouth with all the tenderness of a man not in fact fisting the hair on his head roughly and yanking his head back at an awkward angle. “I need you to do better than that, itty bitty birdie.”
And that makes him feel naked, more naked than having his costume peeled off and being force to give a blowjob to a gun. He still has his mask on to hide behind, but that’s it and this guy knows that. It’s a very thin line he’s straddling, play-pretending he has no other choice but to let this gun in his mouth or else get his identity revealed and then get killed. (But no, he has choices, he’s letting this happen for as long as it needs to go, and if it crosses that line of what’s acceptable then he’ll put a stop to it.)
The degrees in the angle of Robin’s head decrease a little as the gun’s tip returns to prod at his bottom lip. He’s at eye level with the man’s crotch and he can see the bulging there, and the groan elicited when Robin gingerly re-accepts the barrel into his mouth sends shivers down his spine.
“How about this, don’t try to take the whole thing in this time,” the man advises, kindly almost. “Just try to get your tongue down the chamber, try to get it in the slit.”
Oh real clever, Robin would say if he could (but he can’t, can’t can’t oh god there is a gun in his mouth), if you want my mouth on your dick so badly what’s with the pretense of the gun? But he understands, Batman made him learn about psychology and he gets the whole thing about kinks and fetishes. There’re reasons other than preventing his escape for the ropes trying his arms behind his back and his knees together while he’s naked. So Robin tries his best to do what he’s told, and he swears his heart stops a little as his tongue wriggles against the ridges of the barrel opening; he can already imagine so easily the sound of gunshot, he can’t help but do it now and imagine -
It’s fine that he shudders because the man likes it, nails digging a little deeper into his scalp. “Good good,” he murmurs, getting eager, pushing more of the barrel in and Robin’s tongue is crammed back, he exhales hard in discomfort through his nose. His mouth is stretched painfully around the gun and the guy is muttering, “Suck it, that’s right, suck it or else I shoot your brains out…”
He finally pulls back and out and a little line of spit bridging from the gun to Robin’s mouth lingers, shimmering in the lowlight, for just a split second before breaking and trailing down Robin’s chin. He hears the man make this guttural pleased sound and suddenly the hold in his hair is rougher and tenser, the straining in his neck increases tenfold and is far enough back that a few of his vertebrae pop in protest of the lack of warning.
Robin’s lips are for sure bruised with how the gun is forcefully thrust back in, scraping the roof of his mouth. This is his final hurrah, clearly orgasm is right around the corner, almost done - all the things Robin’s trying to think to himself over the pain of the deep, constant thrusts of the gun nearly at the back of his throat.
“I’ll blow your brains out, shoot you through the back of your throat, kill you, kill you - ” The man is saying, low and mindlessly as he breathes heavier and heavier. And that’s worrisome, because Robin might be dealing with a different kink then, a more dangerous, him inevitably dead kink.
He chokes, gags around the barrel, but the thrusting doesn’t stop and the hand in his hair has moved to his throat, a strong thumb pressing forcefully on his windpipe and alright, yeah, boundary crossed and this is no longer acceptable.
With the new free movement of his head, he clenches his teeth down as hard as he can on the length of the gun and (prayprayprayprays the man’s fingers aren’t on the trigger and the gun doesn’t go offoffoffoff - ) and yanks to the right and back. Luck is on his side, so is the loosened and hazy grip of someone about to get off, and he ends up with the gun dangling from his mouth.
“Wha - ” The man reaches forward for the gun, one hand still on Robin’s throat but not as deliberate as it needs to be to stop Robin from persevering (he’s operated under much more life-threatening conditions). Robin delivers as hard of a headbutt as he can manage, then purposefully falls backwards onto his bound hands to further unbalance the man, who partially follows Robin’s movement before letting go of his throat. While he’s dazed Robin ( - possibly wrenches his knees but - ) manages to bring his feet from sort of behind and under him to deliver a hopefully groin-smashing kick. The man shouts in pain and goes down, just as the door flies open and a blur of bright colors has Robin suddenly across the room and out of any danger.
“Rob - dude - ” Wally is saying, “Sorrysorrysorry, we didn’t realize, are you alright?”
The rest of the team is running in and taking in the scene - well Artemis has an arrow pointed at the guy lying prone on the ground and Conner’s looking all menacing behind her - and Robin realizes hey he’s naked and tied up and still has a gun in his mouth. This probably looks bad.
He spits out the gun and grins at them all, tasting the metallic tang of blood and feeling its warmth coating his tongue. His teeth ache and his lips slip too easily over them. “I’m fine. Everything go according to plan?”
“No,” Kaldur says slowly. “You let yourself be captured. That was not a part of the plan.”
Robin shrugs, still smiling, bloody teeth and all. “Minor setback, major distraction. You can’t tell me things didn’t go off without a hitch afterwards, yeah?”
“Robin…are you alright?” M’gann is cautious with her tone. “Your mouth is bleeding.”
“And you're naked and tied up.” Artemis growls. She kicks the guy in the side, and he grunts a little, still curled up from the force of Robin’s groin attack. “What’d this jerk do to you?”
Robin’s smile diminishes a bit and he licks at the edge of his mouth, where the skin’s chapped and torn a little. “Guys - ”
And then there’s a very familiar gunshot crack that makes Robin jump in Wally’s arms, before he realizes it’s just Conner’s jaw clenching super-tightly.
“Dude?” Wally’s asking again, fearful, and seriously, what just happened - it’s not a big deal.
“Just…stuff with a gun, guys come on. Untie me so I can suit back up and we can get out of here.”
“What kind of stuff with - ” Conner is trying to pry and Robin starts to struggle as much as he can in a bridal carry with hurting knees and rope still binding him.
“Seriously? Because we can’t brief, I don’t know, on the bioship or back at base where and when we’re supposed to? I’m fine.” And they don’t believe him, but he is. There are certain things that aren’t so sacred anymore, not after being in this job and this world for so long.
“Robin is right,” Kaldur finally concedes, looking around at their surroundings. “Now is not the time for such conversations.”
They all avoid his eyes as he pulls his second skin back on and feels a million times better and he’ll tell them, all about what he did and where the boundaries lay for what he’s willing to give up for a successful mission, later with Batman as his back up. He knows how to measure and take risks and come out okay. And even though the whisper of I’ll blow your brains out, shoot you through the back of your throat, kill you, KILL you lingers in the back of his mind, he’s done just that - come out okay - once again.
(“If the risks were calculated, I can only say good job,” Batman says to the team. “But that may have been…too risky. If it doesn’t have to come to that again, don’t let it.” And Robin doesn’t immediately answer, but he can understand why the boundaries may have moved back, been made a little more conservative, when he keeps hearing imagined gunshots echoing in his ears and tasting salt and metal in the back of his throat. “Right,” he says, and when he grins he thinks he can feel the slickness of bloody teeth once more.)
Word Count: 1,642
Summary: Based on this prompt: Robin is forced to fellate a gun.
a/n: That prompt thread also includes a wonderful art fill by ailea! Check her out. She's cool. Warnings: Gunplay, noncon fellatio, allusions to trauma.
---
All he tastes is the weird suffocating flavor of polymer two. It’s everywhere, in the back of his throat and heavy and lasting on his tongue. He hollows his cheeks and breathes hard through his flared nostrils. This is not entirely part of the plan, but it is not entirely outside the boundaries of necessary sacrifices either, so he sticks with it. Don’t think of how the safety’s not on, how the twitch of a single finger could blow his head off, how guns kill and bullets go three hundred and seventy meters per second at the very least.
None of that matters, pales in the face of buying a little more time, keep this guy preoccupied with his new captured hostage, let him think the sole intruder is Robin the Boy Wonder and that he has all the time in the world now. Robin tries to relax his throat a little more as the nozzle reaches far far back but gags despite the effort.
“Now now,” the man lightly scolds, easing the spit-wetted gun out of Robin’s mouth with all the tenderness of a man not in fact fisting the hair on his head roughly and yanking his head back at an awkward angle. “I need you to do better than that, itty bitty birdie.”
And that makes him feel naked, more naked than having his costume peeled off and being force to give a blowjob to a gun. He still has his mask on to hide behind, but that’s it and this guy knows that. It’s a very thin line he’s straddling, play-pretending he has no other choice but to let this gun in his mouth or else get his identity revealed and then get killed. (But no, he has choices, he’s letting this happen for as long as it needs to go, and if it crosses that line of what’s acceptable then he’ll put a stop to it.)
The degrees in the angle of Robin’s head decrease a little as the gun’s tip returns to prod at his bottom lip. He’s at eye level with the man’s crotch and he can see the bulging there, and the groan elicited when Robin gingerly re-accepts the barrel into his mouth sends shivers down his spine.
“How about this, don’t try to take the whole thing in this time,” the man advises, kindly almost. “Just try to get your tongue down the chamber, try to get it in the slit.”
Oh real clever, Robin would say if he could (but he can’t, can’t can’t oh god there is a gun in his mouth), if you want my mouth on your dick so badly what’s with the pretense of the gun? But he understands, Batman made him learn about psychology and he gets the whole thing about kinks and fetishes. There’re reasons other than preventing his escape for the ropes trying his arms behind his back and his knees together while he’s naked. So Robin tries his best to do what he’s told, and he swears his heart stops a little as his tongue wriggles against the ridges of the barrel opening; he can already imagine so easily the sound of gunshot, he can’t help but do it now and imagine -
It’s fine that he shudders because the man likes it, nails digging a little deeper into his scalp. “Good good,” he murmurs, getting eager, pushing more of the barrel in and Robin’s tongue is crammed back, he exhales hard in discomfort through his nose. His mouth is stretched painfully around the gun and the guy is muttering, “Suck it, that’s right, suck it or else I shoot your brains out…”
He finally pulls back and out and a little line of spit bridging from the gun to Robin’s mouth lingers, shimmering in the lowlight, for just a split second before breaking and trailing down Robin’s chin. He hears the man make this guttural pleased sound and suddenly the hold in his hair is rougher and tenser, the straining in his neck increases tenfold and is far enough back that a few of his vertebrae pop in protest of the lack of warning.
Robin’s lips are for sure bruised with how the gun is forcefully thrust back in, scraping the roof of his mouth. This is his final hurrah, clearly orgasm is right around the corner, almost done - all the things Robin’s trying to think to himself over the pain of the deep, constant thrusts of the gun nearly at the back of his throat.
“I’ll blow your brains out, shoot you through the back of your throat, kill you, kill you - ” The man is saying, low and mindlessly as he breathes heavier and heavier. And that’s worrisome, because Robin might be dealing with a different kink then, a more dangerous, him inevitably dead kink.
He chokes, gags around the barrel, but the thrusting doesn’t stop and the hand in his hair has moved to his throat, a strong thumb pressing forcefully on his windpipe and alright, yeah, boundary crossed and this is no longer acceptable.
With the new free movement of his head, he clenches his teeth down as hard as he can on the length of the gun and (prayprayprayprays the man’s fingers aren’t on the trigger and the gun doesn’t go offoffoffoff - ) and yanks to the right and back. Luck is on his side, so is the loosened and hazy grip of someone about to get off, and he ends up with the gun dangling from his mouth.
“Wha - ” The man reaches forward for the gun, one hand still on Robin’s throat but not as deliberate as it needs to be to stop Robin from persevering (he’s operated under much more life-threatening conditions). Robin delivers as hard of a headbutt as he can manage, then purposefully falls backwards onto his bound hands to further unbalance the man, who partially follows Robin’s movement before letting go of his throat. While he’s dazed Robin ( - possibly wrenches his knees but - ) manages to bring his feet from sort of behind and under him to deliver a hopefully groin-smashing kick. The man shouts in pain and goes down, just as the door flies open and a blur of bright colors has Robin suddenly across the room and out of any danger.
“Rob - dude - ” Wally is saying, “Sorrysorrysorry, we didn’t realize, are you alright?”
The rest of the team is running in and taking in the scene - well Artemis has an arrow pointed at the guy lying prone on the ground and Conner’s looking all menacing behind her - and Robin realizes hey he’s naked and tied up and still has a gun in his mouth. This probably looks bad.
He spits out the gun and grins at them all, tasting the metallic tang of blood and feeling its warmth coating his tongue. His teeth ache and his lips slip too easily over them. “I’m fine. Everything go according to plan?”
“No,” Kaldur says slowly. “You let yourself be captured. That was not a part of the plan.”
Robin shrugs, still smiling, bloody teeth and all. “Minor setback, major distraction. You can’t tell me things didn’t go off without a hitch afterwards, yeah?”
“Robin…are you alright?” M’gann is cautious with her tone. “Your mouth is bleeding.”
“And you're naked and tied up.” Artemis growls. She kicks the guy in the side, and he grunts a little, still curled up from the force of Robin’s groin attack. “What’d this jerk do to you?”
Robin’s smile diminishes a bit and he licks at the edge of his mouth, where the skin’s chapped and torn a little. “Guys - ”
And then there’s a very familiar gunshot crack that makes Robin jump in Wally’s arms, before he realizes it’s just Conner’s jaw clenching super-tightly.
“Dude?” Wally’s asking again, fearful, and seriously, what just happened - it’s not a big deal.
“Just…stuff with a gun, guys come on. Untie me so I can suit back up and we can get out of here.”
“What kind of stuff with - ” Conner is trying to pry and Robin starts to struggle as much as he can in a bridal carry with hurting knees and rope still binding him.
“Seriously? Because we can’t brief, I don’t know, on the bioship or back at base where and when we’re supposed to? I’m fine.” And they don’t believe him, but he is. There are certain things that aren’t so sacred anymore, not after being in this job and this world for so long.
“Robin is right,” Kaldur finally concedes, looking around at their surroundings. “Now is not the time for such conversations.”
They all avoid his eyes as he pulls his second skin back on and feels a million times better and he’ll tell them, all about what he did and where the boundaries lay for what he’s willing to give up for a successful mission, later with Batman as his back up. He knows how to measure and take risks and come out okay. And even though the whisper of I’ll blow your brains out, shoot you through the back of your throat, kill you, KILL you lingers in the back of his mind, he’s done just that - come out okay - once again.
(“If the risks were calculated, I can only say good job,” Batman says to the team. “But that may have been…too risky. If it doesn’t have to come to that again, don’t let it.” And Robin doesn’t immediately answer, but he can understand why the boundaries may have moved back, been made a little more conservative, when he keeps hearing imagined gunshots echoing in his ears and tasting salt and metal in the back of his throat. “Right,” he says, and when he grins he thinks he can feel the slickness of bloody teeth once more.)