Whenever Edgar tied him up, he made sure that the larger man's limbs were nearly immobile. A simple knot around the wrists wouldn't do, no matter how tightly Edgar could tie it. The entirety of Ash's arms had to be tied behind his back; Coarse rope dug into his skin from the wrists to the biceps. Slivers of flesh bulged between the gaps of rough rope, the once-pale skin now an angry red with irritation. Regardless of its appearance, it rendered Ash's arms mostly useless. Edgar was sure that, if pushed, Ash could still manage to free himself. He saw what Ash was capable of. But here, in their room? Ash was at his mercy, and the rope jutting into his skin reminded them both of that.
Ash was wearing nothing but underwear. He was sitting on his knees, rope wrapping tightly around his bare thighs and calves, not offering a single inch of movement nor any reprieve.
He was bent over, barely able to keep himself conscious. It was easier for Edgar to tie him up when he was nodding out. Sure, he was over three hundred pounds of mostly dead weight, but he didn't resist the ropes nearly as much. In Edgar's mind, claustrophobia made Ash act fucking stupid. He didn't want to deal with that right now. Regardless, Ash is easy when he's high.
Edgar set up a tripod and a camera. Ash was so out of it that Edgar could take extra time to set up. He hummed as he put himself through the familiar motions. The dark, bad lighting was intentional, and his favorite to work with. He adjusted the tripod and the camera, making sure to get a good angle of where Ash's face would be once it began. With a downward angle, it was a nice point-of-view shot.
Edgar finished admiring his handiwork, and hit the record button. He walked to Ash and tilted his head up by his chin, giving the camera a good view of his face-- Long, graying black hair that stuck to his face, obscuring most of his features. Days old stubble betrayed his lack of self care, with cuts and bruises that marred his pale face. Edgar used the gloved thumb of his free hand to brush Ash's extra hair out of his face, revealing his eyes. He seemed more aware now, but just a little. His right eye was bloodshot with a dull, dark blue iris and a constricted pupil that tried its best to focus. His left was scarred shut, and Edgar ran his thumb over the healed gash before speaking.
"I've got something for you, Ashley," he said, his voice low. That dull blue struggled to focus on him. Edgar would be sure to wake him up. He kept his hand on Ash's chin and used his right hand to reach behind his back. With a smooth motion he pulled out his revolver. "You know what this is?" A rhetorical question. He cocked the hammer, punctuating his question with a loud click.
At the sight, Ash felt his body stiffen. He did know what it was: a Colt Python revolver. A nice piece, polished silver fashioned with wood grips. He knew that Edgar carried it around, but had never seen him pull it out until now. Suddenly, he was on high alert, the nerves throughout his body screaming at him to stay awake. He strained against the ropes, and Edgar let a smile creep to his lips. Edgar's very own prisoner of war at his mercy. He let go of Ash's chin, but Ash still stared at him.
"Of course," He purred, trailing the cold barrel along Ash's collarbone and along his bruised neck. Edgar felt invigorated at the way Ash's muscles tensed beneath the barrel. Otherwise, he didn't react at all. Boring, yet predictable. Edgar will soon change that.
The barrel continued to drag along Ash's skin, feeling like ice gliding along his flesh. The barrel climbed up his neck, tracing his jawline. Then it suddenly jabbed sharply into his chin, forcing him to look up higher. Ash clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening.
"What's wrong, Ashley?" Edgar asked. He jabbed the barrel against his chin again. "Don't you trust me?" He didn't bother waiting for a response, and pulled the trigger. Every cell in Ash's body tensed. The sound of the gun clicking was almost deafening, but nothing happened.
"You know I won't hurt you." The words were supposed to be calming, but they didn't offer Ash even a single second of relief. He wanted to trust him. He tried to.
Edgar narrowed his eyes and struck him as hard as he could with the revolver. It slammed against his cheek into his nose, making his head whip to the side from the force. Ash's vision blurred white. A burning sensation spread beneath his skin and his nose began to bleed. Edgar used the gun to angle Ash's face to look up at him again.
"You piss me off," Edgar growled. "So here's what we're going to do."
He ran the barrel against Ash's mouth, tracing the scar there, before pulling down his bottom lip. "Open your mouth," he ordered impatiently. Only a fraction of a second passed before Edgar hit him with the gun again, this time bloodily tearing off skin on his cheek.
Ash met his eyes and knew that he had no choice. He opened his mouth. Edgar slid the barrel inside, the cold metal gliding along his tongue.
Edgar watched as Ash swallowed every inch, pleasure rising in his groin as if he was the one getting sucked off. Ash didn't even know if the gun was loaded, and here he was, taking it into his mouth because he had to.
No matter what Edgar would do to him, Ash would stay. Ash would always want him. He would allow himself to be hurt. Humiliated. Degraded. He's strong, he could kill Edgar without breaking a sweat. But instead he's found his place beneath Edgar's heel. It's pathetic. It's disgusting. But it always turned Edgar on.
Ash will take whatever Edgar would give to him. And Edgar will make him take it all.
Edgar slid the entirety of the barrel into Ash's mouth, digging into the back of his throat.
"Suck it," Edgar ordered. His eyes never left Ash's. Edgar cocked the hammer. The click vibrated against Ash's teeth. "Like a cock."
Ash hesitated. His jaw tensed. But Edgar knew that Ash's obedience would always win in the end. He didn't have a choice.
Ash began to move his head back and forth at a steady pace, working the cool metal as he was told.
"You're used to this, huh, junkie? You suck strangers off for another hit?" Edgar asked, his voice thick with arousal. He couldn't get enough of the sight of Ash degrading himself. "You're disgusting."
With his free hand, Edgar weaved his fingers through Ash's hair and grabbed a handful, forcefully yanking his head back. A muffled choking sound caught in Ash's throat.
Still holding the gun, Edgar began slamming the barrel in and out of Ash's mouth. The barrel hit the back of his throat relentlessly, making him gag. The metal clacked against his teeth. Spit coated the barrel and dripped down his chin. The gun shredded the roof of his mouth. Ash choked on the blood and metal, his eye watering. Edgar ignored him and continued to roughly fuck his mouth with the gun. Harder. Faster. As if the gun was an extension of himself that he could feel pleasure through.
He built up to his own kind of climax. He pulled the trigger. Ash flinched. But, again, nothing had happened.
The click of the gun sent waves of nausea crashing throughout his body. Edgar let go of his hair and pulled the gun out of his mouth, admiring the mix of saliva and blood on the barrel. Ash doubled over, coughing and choking on his own spit. The sensitive skin inside of his mouth and throat was raw and aching. Spit and blood still coated his lips and chin, but he was unable to wipe it away.
Ash certainly was a sight. The beginnings of dark bruises started to develop on his face; His cheeks and nose were covered in bloodied scrapes and cuts. His long hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He was looking away from Edgar, his mouth twisted into an indiscernible expression. Edgar's gaze fell from his now spit and blood-streaked barrel back to Ash's pathetic form, drinking him in.
"We're not done." He lowered the gun back to Ash's blood caked lips. He cocked the hammer once more. "Clean it."
This was the only time where Edgar could say that he genuinely loves him-- when Ash submits to him. He especially loves it when he sees hatred flicker for a single second on his face. He knows that Ash would never leave him, no matter how shitty he's treated.
Edgar's eyes trailed down his body. Bruises and cuts litter the pale surface. Every inch of his body is Edgar's to take. And look at him, he likes it too. It's obvious through his underwear. What a fucking freak.
Ash opened his mouth and took in the barrel again. With a bloodied mouth he cleans the gun as much as he can. His tongue glided along the underside of the barrel, tasting copper. He continued to lick and suck the barrel. Edgar watched him through hooded eyes. Ash always looked good beneath him, but especially so with a gun in his mouth.
Edgar pulled the barrel from his mouth. Ash swallowed the excess spit and blood. His raw throat almost rejected it, but he forced it down.
Edgar traced the slick barrel along Ash's jawline. "It's not fucking hard," He sneered. He jabbed the gun into Ash's chin, making him look up. "You're worthless."
Edgar then raised his revolver on Ash's right side. Without hesitation he pulled the trigger. A deafening bang rang out. The sound reverberated throughout Ash's body, making him flinch sharply. His right ear was ringing. The breath caught in his throat. His heart thumped in his chest as his extremities turned ice cold. Behind him, the glass of a window shattered and fell to the floor in pieces. Edgar lowered the revolver, a faint plume of smoke rose from the barrel but quickly dissipated. It was loaded. It was loaded the entire god damn time. Ash felt sick.
Edgar smiled at him, satisfied with his reaction. And Edgar'll get to relive it over and over when he watches the tape.
"Don't piss me off again." His threat hung in the air like the smell of gunpowder. He holstered his revolver behind his back.