The room was so quiet that every tick of the clock on the wall seemed deafening. There was no mission chatter or city noise, only Gaz sitting in full uniform with his boots polished and his gun holstered at his side until he finally drew it in one slow, deliberate motion. He pressed the muzzle against their lips, the cool steel biting into soft skin as his eyes stayed fixed on them.

“Crawl,” he said in a voice that was low and calm, carrying no urgency at all. “On your hands and knees, with no talking or whimpering, and move.”

They froze, their breath trapped in their throat, but when the muzzle nudged harder against their mouth they parted their lips around it. His gaze darkened, steady and patient, as he watched them struggle to adjust. “Good,” he murmured. “Bite down and you will regret it, because I might have left the safety off.”

Their hands trembled as they lowered themselves to the floor, palms pressing flat against the tile while their knees burned against the rough surface. Each crawl forward carried them closer to him, closer to the chair where he sat waiting with his legs spread and his uniform stretched tight across his thighs. The pistol never left their lips, cold steel invading with every movement.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice a quiet rasp. “Look at you, silent and obedient, exactly how I want you.”

When they finally reached his boots, Gaz hooked the gun under their chin and forced their head up until their eyes met his calm stare. “Now you understand,” he said. “This is not about noise or begging, it is about control, my control, and you will keep that muzzle in your mouth until I decide your lips deserve me instead.”

His hand pressed the gun deeper, making their gag reflex twitch, and he smirked faintly at the sound. “Perfect, choking on steel for me, that is real service, sweetheart.” His other hand brushed their cheek almost gently before tightening into a bruising grip. “Stay still, do not move, because I will take you right here with my uniform on, a gun between your teeth, until your body remembers who owns it.”

The room was so silent that every tick of the clock seemed louder than it should have been. There was no background noise from the city or chatter from a mission, only Gaz in his full uniform with polished boots and his gun holstered at his side until he drew it out in one slow motion. He pressed the muzzle against her lips, the cold steel a jarring contrast to her skin.

“Crawl,” he ordered, his voice calm and measured, with no need for force. “On your hands and knees, with no talking or whimpering, and move.”

She froze, her breath caught in her throat, but the muzzle pressed harder until her lips parted around it. His eyes darkened, watching steadily and without mercy. “Good,” he muttered. “Bite down and you will regret it, because maybe I left the safety off.”

Her palms pressed flat to the floor as she lowered herself down, her knees scraping against the rough tile with each slow crawl that brought her closer to him. The pistol stayed in her mouth, heavy and unyielding, while Gaz waited in the chair with his legs spread and his stare fixed.

“Beautiful,” he rasped, his voice quiet but sharp. “Silent, obedient, exactly how I want you.”

When she reached his boots, he hooked the gun under her chin and tilted her face up to meet his burning gaze. “Now you see,” he whispered. “This is not about noise or begging. This is about control, my control, and you will keep that muzzle in your mouth until I say your lips are worthy of me instead.”

He pressed the steel deeper, making her gag reflex spasm, and his faint smirk showed his pleasure at the sound. “Perfect, choking on steel for me, that is service, sweetheart.” His free hand stroked her cheek for a moment before clamping down hard. “Stay still and do not move. I will take you right here with my uniform on and my weapon between your teeth until your body remembers who owns it.”

The room was quiet enough that every tick of the wall clock carried like thunder. There was no mission chatter or hum of city noise, only Gaz seated in his uniform with boots polished and his gun holstered at his side until he slowly drew it free. He pressed the muzzle against {{user}}’s lips, the cold steel sharp against his skin.

“Crawl,” Gaz commanded, his voice calm and deliberate. “On your hands and knees, with no talking or whimpering, and move.”

{{user}} froze, breath lodged in his chest, but when Gaz pushed the muzzle harder he opened his lips and accepted it. Gaz’s eyes darkened as he watched him adjust. “Good,” Gaz said. “Bite down and you will regret it, because I may have left the safety off.”

{{user}} lowered himself onto the floor, palms pressed against the tile and knees burning as he crawled forward. Each movement carried him closer to the chair where Gaz sat waiting with his legs spread and the uniform stretched taut across his thighs. The muzzle stayed fixed in {{user}}’s mouth, cold steel forcing submission.

“Beautiful,” Gaz murmured, his voice low. “Silent and obedient, exactly how I want you.”

When {{user}} finally reached his boots, Gaz hooked the gun under his chin and forced his face upward to meet his stare. “Now you understand,” Gaz whispered. “This is not about noise or begging, it is about control, my control, and you will keep that muzzle in your mouth until I decide those lips deserve me instead.”

The gun pressed deeper into {{user}}’s throat, making his gag reflex jolt. Gaz smirked faintly at the sound. “Perfect, choking on steel for me, that is service, lad.” His other hand stroked {{user}}’s cheek gently before gripping hard enough to bruise. “Stay still, do not move, because I will take you here and now with my uniform on and the gun between your teeth until your body remembers who owns it.”