Description
Firearm
Story
Dodger sat in the armchair, his fingers tracing the cold metal of the Colt revolver. The wooden presentation box lay open on his lap, it’s green felt nestling the sleek black gun inside. He glanced up at Roscoe, who stood imposingly before him, arms crossed and sharp eyes narrowed. The parlor was dimly lit, casting long shadows that danced across the cold iron of the pistol.
"You're serious about this?" The terrier asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. "A gun? Really?"
Roscoe's lips curled into a sneer. "Dead serious," he replied, emphasizing the word 'dead' with a chilling finality. "You need to be prepared for anything. You never know when you might need to defend yourself."
Dodger sighed, running a hand through his headfur. "I've always managed just fine without one. I prefer to schmooze my way out of situations, not shoot them up."
The doberman stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "That's where you're wrong, dipshit. Words can only get you so far. Sometimes, you need something more... persuasive."
"Persuasive?" Dodger echoed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Like this hunk of metal? It's barbaric, Ross. I thought we were better than that."
Roscoe stepped closer, the air between them thickening with tension. Without breaking eye contact, he slipped a finger under the terrier's chin, lifting Dodger’s head so that their eyes met. "Better? We are better. But being better doesn't mean being weak. You need to understand that."
Dodger’s eyes flashed with defiance. "And what if I refuse? What if I don't want to carry this thing around like one of your trigger-happy thugs?"
The dodgerman’s grip on Dodger's chin tightened, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. The doberman's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Then you'll find out just how much I enjoy teaching stubborn little bitches their place."
Dodger's breath hitched, but he refused to back down. "Is that a threat, Ross?"
"No," Roscoe replied smoothly, his voice low and dangerous. "It's a promise."
The twink swallowed hard, his resolve wavering. "Fine," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do it. But don't expect me to like it."
Roscoe released his boyfriend's chin, stepping back and crossing his arms once more. "Oh, I don't expect you to like it. But you will obey. And you will learn."
Dodger's fingers brushed against the cold metal of the revolver, a shiver running down his spine. The doberman's gaze was unyielding, a predator sizing up its prey. He knew better than to argue further, but the thought of carrying a gun made him uneasy. "Fine," he said finally, "but I have a condition."
Roscoe raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what might that be?"
There was a mischievous glint in the terrier’s eye. "I'll practice with it, but I want to do it naked."
Roscoe's expression shifted from stern to amused. "Naked, huh? You think that'll make it easier?"
Dodger shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "It might. Besides, it's more fun for you to watch, don't you think?"
Roscoe chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a dumbass. But if that's what you want, then we'll do it your way."
Tsunamicat108
Membergun
Login to respond »