He staggered back to the base, eyes unseeing. All gone. All gone…
Eyes so unseeing, in fact, that he failed to see Legatus van Cinna until it was too late, and Jullus was walking directly into his armoured chest with a muted thump.
He looked up at his Lord, eyes unfocused, and a gauntleted hand came under his chin, tipping his face upwards.
“You’re covered in blood,” the Legatus murmured, turning his face this way and that, the blood gleaming dully under what remained of their lights.
“It’s not mine,” Jullus replied, “Ser. It’s not mine, Ser.”
“I had gathered. Follow me, and be quick. The night looks to be chill, and you look to need some warmth.”
Jullus blinked, the fog clearing just an ilm, then followed, obedient to the core. It was warmer inside the carriage; just a little, but it was almost enough.
The Legatus was sat upon his little sofa, and he beckoned with one hand. Jullus obeyed, walking over as though pulled by a puppet string.
“Report.” The word was soft, but laced with command, and Jullus stood straighter, eyes forward and hands clasped loosely in the small of his back.
“Hostiles found Ser, South-East Regio Urbanissima. Four of them. I-” he stumbled, images of vacant, beloved faces flashing before his eyes. He dug his fingernails into his palms. Gathered himself. “I put them down, Ser.”
“Who were they?” van Cinna’s voice was soothing, with steel below it. He knew. He knew, yet he was dragging it out of him anyway…
“My family.” Jullus’ chest heaved as he took a shuddering breath. “They- they had no radio, Ser. No defence against the call.”
“Yet you,” he paused, “put them down anyway.” He stood, then, and closed the distance between them. One gauntleted hand came down on his shoulder, and Jullus looked up, sharply. “You did well. Very well. Not everyone would have such courage.”
“Courage?” Jullus’ eyes widened, and he felt bile in his throat as his voice grew louder. “Is it courage, Ser, to strike down your baby brother and sister like the most rabid of beasts?” His face was wet. Huh.
“Yes. It is.” The words were simple, but Jullus could barely believe them.
“Bullshit!” It spewed from his lips before he could check himself, and Jullus’ hands flew to his mouth, covering it in shock.
The Legatus said nothing, though. He looked down at Jullus with an unreadable expression, then tightened his hand upon his shoulder. “I know what you need, boy.”
He always did.
The sofa was a bit tatty by now, and Jullus knew the brocaded threads of it as well as the back of his hands. He backed up against it until the backs of his legs hit the edge, standing still so that the Legatus’ hands could do their work.
Always so nimble, even with the gauntlets, he made quick work of Jullus’ coat, pushing it back over his shoulders and down his arms. It pooled behind him on the sofa, and then his Lord was at his shirt, pulling it open with no care for buttons. That went to the floor, and then the Legatus joined it, kneeling before Jullus and working at his laces.
Emboldened for a second, Jullus put one wondering hand atop the blonde hair below him, marvelling at the softness of it, and the volume beneath his palm.
“You can touch,” the Legatus said, pulling off one boot. “I think you’ve earned that, don’t you?”
“S-ser?” Jullus’ eyes widened, and he licked his lips.
“And enough with the honorifics, if you please.” The other boot followed. “You may call me Quintus, in here. When we are alone, mind.” A sharp glance upwards, followed by the faintest hint of a smile.
Jullus’ breath caught in his chest as the Legatus- no, as Quintus’ gauntleted hands came up the length of his legs to attack the buttons on his trousers. Blood rushed downwards as the trousers came down, and Jullus stepped out of them in a daze.
“Very good. Now.” Quintus got to his feet with a wince that would have been unnoticeable, if Jullus hadn’t known him so well. “Get back into that coat of yours, then lay down. I’ll not see you shivering.”
Jullus did shiver, but not from the cold. He bent and picked up the coat, heavy and still holding some residual warmth from his body. There was blood at the fur collar, he noticed absently. That would be a pain to get out…
As Quintus took hold of it, he realised he’d paused, staring at the fur. He was gently put back into the coat, Quintus wrapping it around him and then holding him by the shoulders. “Eyes on me, now. That’s it.”
He steered Jullus until he was laid back on the sofa, shoulders against the straight arm of it and his head at the edge, legs laid out in front of him. Reaching down with one hand, Quintus flicked open the coat, leaving Jullus exposed. He ran the same hand down between his bare breasts, spreading the iron-clad fingers out at his belly then down to his pussy, which reacted in kind.
Jullus squirmed as one of those cold fingers parted his lips, plunging down to gather some of the wetness there.
There was an approving noise above his head, and he inhaled shakily as Quintus brought that same finger to his own lips, tongue flickering out to lap away his gleaming juices.
“So wet for me, and I’ve barely touched you. You are a good boy, aren’t you?” Quintus moved to the end of the sofa where Jullus’ head lay, and he began to unfasten the buttons at his trousers, releasing his cock to the chill air. Even from his prone position, and upside down, Jullus could see how hard it was, and his mouth watered in anticipation.
Without warning, Quintus bent his knees a little and pushed the head of his cock down against Jullus’ lips, forced his way past his teeth and into his mouth in one smooth movement. Jullus’ mouth opened obediently without even thinking about it, and he arched his back as Quintus’ cock pushed in even deeper.
It was so large he could feel his jaw aching already, and so heavy pushing up against his tongue, filling his mouth entirely. His eyes fluttered closed, and he let himself drift - focusing on the musky, salty taste, the way saliva flooded his mouth in response, the way Quintus smelled of chill cologne and chiller iron like the touch of steel on the very back of his tongue.
A hand went to his throat, stroking the prone column of it, the metal of Quintus’ gauntlet cold against his overheated skin, soothing, even, as his cock pushed further in, further down.
Jullus forced himself to relax: going limp and pliant was easy, let the body take over, loosen and soften, but he couldn’t help the jerking of his hips as Quintus breached his throat, that gauntleted hand holding him steady. A willing hole.
He felt himself dampen further, that hole flexing and clenching around nothing, almost wishing Quintus was in him there as well, taking him twice.
His throat hurt. Oh it was so full, and that thumb stroking at a bulge that he’d never had, distended and moving as Quintus fucked into his throat without mercy. There was a crush of armour against his face from Quintus’ belt buckle and the bottom of his breastplate, combined with the press of his balls, and then he slid out and Jullus gasped, all the air rushing to his mouth at once. His chest heaved, and he couldn’t help but reach up and clutch at Quintus’ leg, the back of his thigh, anywhere as the thoughts poured back in with the air.
“Please,” he gasped, voice raw and painful. “Quintus, don’t stop…” His mouth was a mess of spit and slick, and he could feel it beginning to run down his face.
There was a sharp intake of breath above him. Not that Jullus could see; his vision blurred with pleasure and urgent, desperate need.
“Letting you get some air, boy. I won’t forsake you, have no fear.” That hand at his throat again, stroking and then gently tipping his head back further, fingers laced in his hair. “Touch yourself,” Quintus said, the iron of command in his voice. “Put your fingers in that wet pussy of yours and pretend it’s me. Go on.”
His hand moved down without needing any more encouragement, fingers parting his folds, gathering wetness and circling before plunging in and bending, hips jerking as he found the place inside that felt so good.
“Good.” Quintus’ voice was a rumble above him, and Jullus’ hips jerked again as that fat cock once more found its way into his mouth.
He let out a muffled noise of surprise as Quintus’ hand tightened in his hair, tugging his head back into position again and giving him the perfect column of throat to fuck back into, then all thoughts were forced from his mind as everything became that ache and push, desperately stilling his gag reflex, the hot scent of Quintus right in his nose, iron-clad thumb at his throat and fingers curling round his neck, holding him still.
Quintus pulled out again and Jullus’ breath rushed back. Just enough time for his brain to catch up, then Quintus was in him again, running his free hand down Jullus’ the gentle swell of his breast to tweak and pull at his peaked nipple with hard fingers.
Jullus’ hips jumped, and he crooked his fingers harder inside, rubbing and rubbing even as he jerked his clit with the other hand. His fingers were a poor substitute for the thickness of Quintus’ cock, but if he let himself, he could imagine it well enough.
“You’re so good,” Quintus purred above him. He let go of Jullus’ nipple, leaving it red and standing proud, and then slipped out of his mouth once more, resting the head of his cock against Jullus’ lips. He could feel it twitching, feel the way his own spit trailed from it down onto his face, making him a right bloody mess most likely.
There was a click above him, and a whirring sound that he recognised but couldn’t place, and then Quintus’ hand was at his face, his thumb brushing at the corner of his mouth as he replaced his dick with something cold and hard, oh so hard, and it tasted of iron and gunpowder and made Jullus’ mouth dry with fear.
His eyes snapped open and his hands whipped up, scrabbling at Quintus’ armoured thighs. But it was to no avail. Quintus held him steady and fed his ornate, beautiful pistol into Jullus’ mouth.
“Don’t you trust me, boy?” he said, looking down at Jullus with a strange expression on his face. “I know what’s good for you, don’t I?” He stroked the side of Jullus’ cheek, brushing away something wet from his eye, and then set his cock aside the barrel of the pistol, stroking it with his other hand.
Jullus’ tongue pushed against the metal barrel and he swallowed the terror, blinking away tears. Quintus’ cock was hot against his face even as the gun was cold, so cold.
“I didn’t say stop touching yourself. Come now, back to it.”
Jullus obeyed as though puppeted, hands going back to push four fingers into his pussy and to rub at his clit with finger and thumb, jerking it off like he would any other cock. Four fingers weren’t anywhere near as thick as Quintus would be, but they were able to crook and curve and press with much more accuracy, and he felt his toes begin to tingle from the dual sensations of touching himself as Quintus fucked his throat with his gun.
The hardness of a pistol barrel, it turned out, was nowhere comparable to the yielding hardness of a cock, no matter how much fatter said cock was. It burned as it pushed into his throat, all hard edges, though it was warming up a little now from the heat of his mouth.
Quintus rubbed his cock in time with the gun, nudging the head of it against the corner of Jullus’ mouth and collecting all the spit which was pouring out of it uncontrollably. He began to breathe heavier, huffing little growls that Jullus knew meant he was close. Normally, he would clench harder around Quintus’ cock at that sign, whether pussy or asshole, whichever he fancied fucking that day, but even without that cock in his hole, he felt his body react.
He tensed, ass clenching and jumping as he tried to fend off his orgasm, though he was unable to stop his fingers moving inside and out. What if- what if he came and it sent Quintus’ finger to that trigger? What if it was the last thing he ever did? Jaw blown out and dead on the sofa with his hands in his pussy and all his shining career over…
“Come for me, boy,” Quintus hissed, and it jerked Jullus directly out of that train of thought. The lightning took him, and he jerked and shuddered, feeling more tears squeeze from his eyes as he tried to breathe through his orgasm with a pistol down his throat.
“Good- good boy-” Quintus’ words were bitten short and hot, sticky seed splashed out over Jullus’ face, covering his chin and lips and probably the barrel of that beautiful pistol and all.
He felt himself come again from the praise, unstoppable, though his body felt stretched tight and wrung out, and then his vision blacked out, all his air finally used up.
Jullus wasn’t aware of the pistol being removed from his mouth. Didn’t hear the clink of it being set aside on the window ledge of their train carriage. Didn’t feel Quintus cradle his head and rub a thumb at his throat, murmuring praise. Didn’t feel himself scooped up, soaked-through coat and all.
He woke much later, in the dark of his own bunk. Felt like a ceruleum bomb’d gone off in his throat, or that- fuck. Yeah, guess that’s what it felt like to quite literally deepthroat a gun. And yet, the memory of his Legatus - of Quintus - warmed him through. The praise and the deft way he’d driven all thoughts from his mind in a very specific kind of healing. He flopped back onto his pillow and savoured the flavour of gunpowder and steel on the back of his tongue, the hint of bitter seed on his lips.