Feel the Gun

by Anne-Li

sequel to: Caress the Gun (you probably want to read this one first!)

Author's disclaimer and notes: I don't own them, I just dream of doing so. Feedback is better than Mrs Cheng's Bombay Curry Chicken. Corrections to my language or any other type of comments are welcome. Ask if you want me to archive it anywhere. You may link to this story if you want or to my main page. 3.199 words. Written in July 2006. A gift to Nico on her birthday 2008.

Warnings: Graphic sex.

Betaed by Heather Sparrows and by Kadorienne. As always - thank you!

If you want you can also read/download the story as a doc file (without graphics).

After several days of practising, they had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Dorian stood in the middle booth, while Klaus had claimed the one to his right, so that he could keep Dorian from doing anything stupid. Now and then Dorian did suggest that they would switch places, "for inspirational purposes", as he claimed. Klaus, on the other hand, wasn't quite ready to trust the Englishman with a weapon behind his back. Besides, he wasn't above availing himself of some "inspiration" either, though he certainly didn't need it to better his aim. Only, Dorian was still pathetically slow and Klaus often had to wait several minutes after having finished his own round, even if he took care to fire only one shot per lift. As he waited and watched, he found that the other's body, as seen from the back, had several delights. After the last shot, he would quickly go through Dorian's mistakes – mostly an annoying tendency to rock on his feet mid-lift. Then they would go up to Dorian's target together. Dorian now got to apply his own marks – almost all of them in the black. Then Klaus would approach his own target by himself, another twenty five meters down the hall, while Dorian watched – for "inspirational" purposes, of course.

Only on returning to the booths, would Dorian – if the round had been all in the black – get a quick kiss. Or a not so quick one, on a fleeting scale up to his personal record of 49. Actually, the sessions usually did go on for quite a bit, since Dorian's skill had steadily improved. Klaus had even, after the first two days, stopped wearing the Kevlar vest.

Dorian still used the dainty 22, while Klaus practised with various weapons. During some rounds he amused himself by lifting simultaneously with the Earl and fire as soon as he heard Dorian's shot – sometimes forcing himself to keep a perfect aim for several long seconds. When Dorian called him on the teasing he claimed innocence – though he did stop when Dorian's aim noticeably worsened as he subconsciously dreaded the Magnum's heavy bark so close to the sharp cough of the 22.

"That looked smooth enough," Klaus allowed as Dorian lowered his gun after having completed the round. He opted to just push down his hearing protectors to hang around his neck, while Dorian gingerly removed his. He had caught several strands of hair in them already and was not overly fond of them.

Dorian grabbed his markers. "Yes. I think I lifted the third a little, that's all."

As they approached the targets Dorian leaned against Klaus's side. He had begun that the second day, until Klaus had thought it simplest to put his arm around his shoulders. A few trips later Dorian's hand had been on his hip, though noticeably now and then moved to give one of Klaus's buttocks an affectionate squeeze. The first time Klaus had warned him off sharply, but now he just kept walking, enjoying the warmth that followed Dorian's action. He liked it better during the longer kisses, though, when both of Dorian's hands would be on his arse, rubbing and teasing. And best of all at the end of the training session, when they would make out like horny teenagers against the wall or on the sofa in the shooting hall's sitting area. Dorian's hand would inevitably find its way under Klaus's trousers and ... that would feel better than good.

"Mona Lisa in a shoe box ..."

Dorian's awed whisper and the tightening of the arm around his waist woke Klaus from his thoughts about their end of the day activities.

Four bullet holes were in the lower part of the ten, one just above the other three. The last bullet - likely the one Dorian thought he had lifted – had hit far above the others. It touched the ring bordering the nine, but was – very clearly so – still an undisputable ten.

Fucking hell! The fop did it!

"Mona Lisa in a ... shoe box! Klaus! I did it! I did it!"

"Well done."

He patted Dorian's shoulder and shrugged to get out of the embrace. Then he marched off to check his own target.

The fucking fop fucking did it!

Warmth flooded his belly, then a wave of cold. He quickly taped over his own five tens. His hands trembled, so he was grateful that this would be the last round of the day – otherwise he might have been forced to bring along some white marks of his own. Dorian had done it! He had shot a fifty! And Klaus had promised Dorian that if he did shoot fifty he would... they would ... If he did ... If he ...

Fucking hell.

Walking back he noticed Dorian's tense lips and clutched fist around the mark roll.

"That's all?" Dorian said. He even sounded tense.

"What are you on about?" Klaus had a vague idea that this was not a casual conversation and that he was missing something.

"That's all I get? A 'well done'?"

"It was well done. Good collection on the four."

"I shot a fifty, Klaus! You promised—You said – Have you changed your mind about that?"

Part of him wanted to say, "Yes," though – much to his own surprise – mostly to see Dorian's reaction. "Of course not," he said instead. "I don't break my word." Except perhaps to Russians, CIA, terrorists, Neo Nazis and so on.

The Earl's set expression smoothened out into a smile that widened to the unholy grin Klaus had only seen on a few memorable occasions.

"You haven't marked the holes," he said quickly and nodded towards the target.

"I'm having this one framed. And you're stalling."

Then Dorian pounced. Literally.

Klaus found himself backed up against a booth as the Englishman for all practical purposes appeared in the process of crawling into his mouth. In the best possible way. Dorian's hand grabbed his arse in a ... yes, decidedly possessive manner. He had a vague feeling that he should say something about that, but on the other hand ... it felt good.

Dorian pulled back to growl, "Mine," in his ear. Before Klaus had time to inform him that while he might have given consent to a coupling, he was still very much his own, thank you very much, he was kissed again. At the same time Dorian began to hastily unbutton Klaus's shirt, tugging so hard that two buttons popped off.

Klaus's, "Hey!" went unheeded. Feeling slightly stunned at the other's intensity, he allowed himself to be divested of his shirt, wincing only a little as it was thrown to the floor. Here? We're going to do it here?

"Boots," he hastily insisted when Dorian began to tug at his belt. "And make sure the door is locked." His father was nowhere near Eberbach and the servants had explicit orders not enter the shooting court, but still – damn it if he was going to be found with his pants pushed to his knees, getting rogered by Eroica.

Dorian made a truly frustrated noise, moved away about two decimetres, glanced towards the door, moved back to kiss him and tug some more at his belt, glanced towards the door again—

"Gloria! Lock the door!" Klaus growled in his best "sergeant at boot camp"-voice.

Dorian made one more, frustrated sound, before rushing off. Klaus took the opportunity to start removing his boots, since that command apparently had been the least considered of the two. He suspected that Dorian saw removing them as rather unnecessary all in all, as long as he got access to the parts of Klaus's body that had so far been – well ... more or less – denied to him.

Just as he got down on one knee again to undo the laces of the second boot, a hand started to brush through his hair while a second caressed his shoulders. Then Dorian knelt behind him and Klaus startled at the feel of the other man kissing, licking and – he startled again - nibbling up and down his spine. "Dorian!" he protested. "Get off me!"

"You promised! Promised!" the Englishman mumbled. Both of his hands were now on Klaus's skin, rubbing up and down his sides. Then he ventured around, pressing for a second against Klaus's stomach before going to his fly. Moments later he pulled out Klaus's belt, dropped it hastily and returned to make short work of the button and zipper.

"I'm beginning to regret it," Klaus hissed. He does remember I've never done this before, right? He acts like he wants to push me down and mount me.

Dorian immediately pulled back. His hands landed on Klaus's shoulders, caressing slightly. "Your skin ... So pale and smooth ... Oh, Klaus ... "

Klaus got up and quickly pushed off the remaining boot. When he wasn't at once assailed he turned back. Dorian still knelt, gazing up at him with hungry eyes.

"Klaus? Would you do something for me, my love?"

I thought I already was doing something for you. "What?"

"T-take off your pants? Real ... slow?"

He stared at the limey in abject disbelief. "You want me to ... striptease for you?"

Dorian just nodded. His mouth hung open, as if he had forgotten how to breathe otherwise.

With the other man at his feet – literally – Klaus didn't feel particularly pressured or as if to undress would make him more vulnerable. So he took off his pants. Real ... slow ...

When he was naked, it felt natural to go up to the Earl and take him by the hair, guiding his mouth to Klaus's erection. Which was promptly worshipped by an expert, no question about it. Klaus took a sharp intake of breath when his cock was engulfed into slippery heat and subjected to a teasing tongue bath. He fisted the curls – hair he had fantasized about more than one night. He wondered vaguely what Dorian would say if he pulled out and instead masturbated with a handful of the blond tresses? One day, he promised himself, but he wasn't quite ready to reveal that particular fetish of his.

Dorian caressed up and down his legs and moaned continuously, obviously quite happy to be where he was. Then he shifted higher. One hand went up the inside of Klaus's thighs, cupping his balls briefly before searching beyond. Klaus spread his legs a little, giving the intruder wordless permission to proceed. One finger sank in easily enough. During the days since Dorian's first lesson, most trainings had ended with the two of them making out. With clothes on, so far, but almost every time Dorian had stimulated Klaus's arse, which had worked very well indeed to arouse him and/or push him over the edge. The penetration, in combination with Dorian's skilful mouth on his organ, quickly had Klaus abandon control and start fucking as fast as his partner would permit. When Dorian flexed his hand Klaus accommodated him by spreading his legs further – and a second finger worked its way into him, filling him nicely and moving in and out at a lazy pace.

Klaus wasn't even aware of having moved, when he suddenly felt himself leaning against a booth wall.

"Feeling good, love?" Dorian asked.

Klaus looked down. The Earl had withdrawn from his cock and now licked at the base while rubbing his cheek against the straining flesh. He nodded in reply.

Dorian withdrew his fingers and then rose, standing so close that their erections pressed against one another, with the barrier of Dorian's thin leather pants in between.

"I want to make you feel even better," Dorian whispered, before reaching up to nibble at Klaus's right earlobe. Then he pulled back and briefly leaned their foreheads together while looking deep into Klaus's eyes.

Klaus didn't bother to answer, knowing that Dorian would take his silence as consent.

After a sweet, short kiss, just lips on lips, Dorian placed two fingers on Klaus's shoulder and pulled. He didn't put any strength into the motion, but Klaus still turned, away from the man, to face Dorian's booth. On the felt cover the Unique still lay, with the magazine on the side. There was also Dorian's ammunition box. After the first couple of days Klaus had finally let the nobleman handle that part of the shooting as well. A light pressure on his back made clear that Dorian wanted him to lean over. He tried, but froze up. At once hands began to caress his sides. A series of kisses dropped along his spine. "You trust me, don't you, Klaus? Please? Let me do this. I assure you – I'm not going to try to make love to you right away. I have something else in mind. It won't hurt at all, my word on it. Come on. Please?"

Annoyed at his body's temporary rebellion - I made up my mind, damnit! I'm going to let him! - Klaus firmly put his elbows on the felt. Mein Gott, what a stupid picture I must make, naked with my butt in the air!

That was his last coherent thought for some time, possibly with the exception of a brief, He's putting his tongue in my ... –oh yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! How could such a horrid thing feel so incredibly, unimaginably good? Possibly also with the exception of an equally brief, If KGB ever uses this as an – oh yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! If the KGB ever did use it – he'd break within minutes and start babbling NATO code words just to get them to fucking hell continue. Or was it just the Earl who could reduce him to this moaning mess, clutching the booth table to keep from slipping to the floor? He truly hoped so.

He felt exhausted, when the Earl again used his fingers. A new sensitivity made him move against them, inviting them to fill him, even if three were a bit on the very snug side. They pulled and pushed and prodded for a long time; in between bouts of more of this "Rimming, my love. Sweet, isn't it?"

A distinct, metallic sound broke through his hazy mind – a zipper being lowered. And ... Dorian had stood up? Klaus blinked and began to gather his shaky knees in order to stand as well, but a surprisingly heavy hand on his back indicated that Dorian wanted him to keep the position. Fingers returned to his arse, now slightly cold and very slippery. At the same time Dorian licked at his nape. "Your body is ready for me now, Klaus," he said in a reverent whisper. "Are you ready for me? Can I take you now? May I have you now? Yes? Yes. Oh, yes ..."

Klaus didn't respond, but he hadn't stopped moving his hips either and maybe that was all the answer Dorian needed. And, of course, had he actually been able to say something, the answer would still have been yes.

Hands ran up his arms, then down again. He felt leather against his legs and ruffles against his back. Oh, he had tried to explain to Dorian that ruffles just wasn't a good thing in a shouting outfit, but since he didn't have a good enough answer as to in which way they would hinder the shooter, the Englishman had paid him no heed. There was skin touching him too – and not just Dorian's hands and face. Something hot and roundish and slippery - Oh, you know what that is, Eberbach! That's his cock, that's what it is! - slid against his bare arse.

He breathed out, shakily, trying to maintain his relaxed state. When he breathed in again, he scented gun-oil and gun powder and Dorian. The mix smelled good.

A steadily increasing pressure against his centre soon had the intended effect and he was breeched. He was vaguely aware of Dorian mumbling to him, but the words melted into one another, until he heard only the slightly baffled, joyful tone, full of love and heat. The penetration continued. Despite the stretching Dorian had done, the cock felt much too large and long for his narrow hips and arse. He had seen it, when they made out before – had even gingerly handled it, bringing Dorian to a fast orgasm by squeezing it and jacking it. Funny – it hadn't felt so big then.

"—laus? Klaus? Look at me?"

He hadn't even noticed that he had closed his eyes before the insistent use of his name called him back. When he turned his head to follow the direction Dorian's mouth met his. He relaxed into the kiss and felt Dorian sink even deeper inside him. Leather pressed against his arse, indicating that they were as deeply joint as they could get without getting acrobatic about it.

They kissed for a long time. In fact, they kissed for so long that Klaus started feeling impatient – only to realise that Dorian had been moving ... well, at least for a while; small, measured thrusts that, by the time Klaus noticed them, had teased his hips into counter-rhythm. You're slipping, Eberbach. Pay attention! With a groan, he pushed back hard. Dorian's weight shifted and he grabbed Klaus's shoulders with equal force. His next thrust took Klaus completely unaware, brushing against that sweet spot inside of him and again turning his knees into something resembling mush as the sensations made his very skin flush with pleasure and need.

As the ancient rhythm made their bodies move to a quicker beat, their mouths were knocked apart. Dorian's hands let go of their grasp of his shoulder. I'll have bruises tomorrow! The idea was oddly pleasing. One hand took hold of his hip, while the other ventured to his front, to first caress and then jack his aching cock. Driving into the tight hold of Dorian's hand made him speed up his own movements, momentarily throwing Dorian off rhythm. Only for a moment, though, before they automatically adjusted to one another and then moved even faster than before.

Klaus felt the tension mount in his balls and then the final tension or relaxation or whatever it was, that forced his release; tore it out of him with a force he couldn't ever remember having experienced. Perhaps the difference was Dorian, still pumping behind him – filling him over and over, stimulating his pleasure gland and pressing against his inner core – that prolonged his orgasm, drawing it out until it felt eternal. And then a shuddering Dorian let go of his cock and clutched him so tightly Klaus almost couldn't breathe, coming hard.

A long time later, after they had hastily cleaned up, staggered to the sofa and promptly collapsed in one another's arms, Klaus leaned his head against Dorian's shoulder. He felt relaxed and at ease, even though his behind pulsed and burned after the unfamiliar workout.

"Klaus, my love?" Dorian whispered. "That was amazing."

He grunted in reply, but tightened his grip around his lover just a little; just to let him know that he agreed. I'll have to remember to send Sister some flowers, he thought.

The End

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