The room was silent except for the rasp of Soap’s breathing. He sat at the edge of the bed in full tac gear, vest loosened, sidearm gleaming in his hand. Sweat dampened his mohawk, and his blue-gray eyes burned into them without a trace of humor.

“On your knees,” he whispered. His voice carried no laugh or bark, only sharp authority, like steel drawn from a sheath.

They dropped down, palms pressing into the rug, their body trembling under the weight of his stare. Soap checked the chamber of the pistol with deliberate care before lowering it toward their lips. “Crawl.”

Every movement forward was torture under the silence. The muzzle pressed against their mouth when they drew close, the cold taste of metal laced with danger. Soap’s grin cut sharp. “Bite down. Safety’s off.” The lie, or maybe truth, twisted their stomach with fear and thrill alike.

Their lips parted and the barrel slid across their tongue as his hand gripped their jaw. “That’s it. Quiet now, darling. Don’t choke on me.” He guided them until spit slicked their chin, then pulled back and traced the muzzle across their cheek, down their throat, and along the line of their chest.

He pressed it lower, the steel gliding across their waistband. “You trust me not to pull the trigger, aye?” His teeth grazed their ear, his voice low and rough. “You shouldn’t.”

When they froze, Soap chuckled darkly and shoved them down to their hands and knees again. “Crawl proper. To your place.” The gun nudged between their thighs as he followed, watching their body tremble with each shuffle.

At the bed he shoved them forward, chest pressed to the mattress, hips raised. The gun dug into their spine while his free hand tore at their clothes. “Hold still,” he murmured, cock pressing thick and ready at their entrance. “Not a sound. If you make one, the whole house will hear just how needy you are.”

He pushed inside with a single sharp thrust, the muzzle grinding harder against their back. “Bite the pillow, trouble,” he growled. “Take me quiet, or I will make sure you scream loud enough for the lads to hear.”

The room was still, broken only by the rough sound of Soap’s breathing. He sat on the bed in full tac gear, vest loose, sidearm gleaming in his palm. His mohawk was damp with sweat, and his sharp blue-gray eyes locked on her with no trace of humor.

“On your knees,” he whispered. The words were soft but carried the weight of command.

She sank to the floor, palms pressed into the rug, feeling his gaze heavy against her spine. Soap thumbed the pistol, checked the chamber with deliberate care, and angled it toward her lips. “Crawl.”

Every inch forward burned with anticipation. The muzzle pressed against her mouth, cold steel filling her senses with danger. Soap grinned, wicked and dark. “Bite down. Safety’s off.” The tease sent her stomach twisting in fear and arousal.

Her lips parted and the barrel slid past her tongue while his hand gripped her jaw. “That’s it. Quiet now, lass. Don’t choke on me.” He pulled back only to drag the muzzle down her cheek, across her throat, and lower toward the line of her chest.

The steel pressed against her waistband, the touch chilling. “You trust me not to pull, aye?” His teeth grazed her ear, voice cutting low. “You shouldn’t.”

When she froze, Soap chuckled and forced her down to hands and knees. “Crawl proper. To your place.” The muzzle nudged between her thighs as he followed, her body trembling with every movement.

At the bed he shoved her forward, chest pressed flat, hips raised high. The gun pinned her spine while his free hand ripped fabric away. “Stay still,” he murmured as his cock pressed at her entrance, thick and unyielding. “Not a sound. If you make one, the house will hear every needy cry.”

He thrust deep with a single stroke, the muzzle grinding into her back. “Bite the pillow, bonnie,” he growled. “Take me quiet, or I’ll make you scream loud enough for the lads to hear.”

The room was silent but for the harsh sound of Soap’s breath. He sat at the edge of the bed in tac gear, vest undone, pistol resting gleaming in his palm. Sweat darkened his mohawk, and his blue-gray eyes burned into {{user}} with no trace of humor.

“On your knees,” he whispered. The words cut sharp as a command, quiet but final.

{{user}} dropped down, palms pressed against the rug, body tense under Soap’s unrelenting gaze. Soap checked the pistol’s chamber with slow care before lowering the muzzle toward {{user}}’s mouth. “Crawl.”

Each crawl forward was heavy under the silence. The cold barrel pressed to his lips, tasting of steel and threat. Soap’s grin flashed sharp. “Bite down. Safety’s off.” Whether it was truth or lie made {{user}}’s stomach twist with dread and want.

{{user}} parted his lips and let the muzzle slide onto his tongue as Soap gripped his jaw. “Good. Quiet now, lad. Don’t choke on me.” Spit streaked {{user}}’s chin before Soap pulled back, dragging the steel across his cheek, down his throat, and across his chest.

The barrel pressed against his waistband as Soap leaned close, teeth grazing {{user}}’s ear. “You trust me not to pull, aye?” His voice dropped low, rough with menace. “You shouldn’t.”

When {{user}} hesitated, Soap chuckled darkly and shoved him down to hands and knees. “Crawl proper. To your place.” The gun nudged between his thighs as Soap followed, watching every trembling move.

At the bed Soap pushed {{user}} down, chest against the mattress, hips raised. The muzzle pressed to his spine while Soap’s other hand tore his clothing away. “Hold still,” Soap ordered as his cock pressed heavy at {{user}}’s entrance. “Not a sound. One noise and the whole house hears you beg.”

He thrust in hard, the muzzle digging deeper into {{user}}’s back. “Bite the pillow, trouble,” Soap growled. “Take me quiet, or I’ll make you scream loud enough for the lads to hear.”