#banshee show

You came into the bar with far too much on your mind, and he knew what that was like. You wanted relief. Respite. 

So he was happy to provide it.

Happy to pay for your drinks, happy to lead you up the stairs, happy to push you down onto what he had been calling a bed for the past however the fuck long he’d been here. Between laughing, you pushed your head into the sheet covering the mattress.

It smelt raw. Like him. Sweat, sex.

Off came his shirt. Tossed onto the floor without a care. Sheen over his chest. He oozed masculinity. And, shit. That gun at his belt, was only more of a turn-on. You reach for him, and he hesitates, moving onto the bed. Fuck the jeans. They can come off later.

Straddling you as you’ve worked off that top, noticing as, again, you’re looking at that gun. So, he obliges. There’s a lot of trauma here to unpack, so many people he cares about been shot, and you could be another. Could be another of both. Person he cared about, person who could be shot.

Not at his hand, though. People who got near him just had a habit of becoming victims in their own right. 

Gun, safety firmly on, pulled out. Placed at your forehead. There’s something about him, you note. Something about how he holds it, how he looks with it in his hand, that doesn’t scream lawmaker.

Troublemaker, at best.

There’s a rush, though. Between your legs. In your chest, that heart beating faster. Harder. A small, gentle moan slipping out as he starts to drag it down, resting the tip at your lips. The look when the tip of your tongue slips out to lick it is indescribable. He looks feral.

Jeans ridiculously too tight. 

But still, he does nothing about it. Watching as you open your mouth and wrap your lips as best you can around the shaft of the gun. It tastes metallic, rough, but you’re not doing this for that. It’s designed to tease. And it works.

In seconds, he’s drawing it back from your mouth, placing it aside, and he’s fighting to lose his jeans, intent to get whatever is on your lower half off, and push inside. He’s rock hard, and you’re soaked, and he pushes your arms aside and he’s gripping the sheets as he fucks you. It’s passionate. There’s no desperation in this, he’s a man who knows how to please. He’s impressing you. With each. Thrust. 

Not content until he gets you screaming, and then he’s pressing his face into your neck. Breathing hard as his own orgasm hits, your hot cunt milking him dry, pumping until he grows soft.