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Rat-tat-tat.
Down goes the imp guarding the grist chest, revealing a winding path deeper into LOTAK’s tombs. With only torchlight for guidance, Dirk makes quick work of deciphering the chest’s code while Jake keeps a lookout.
No imps in sight.
Now, Jake realizes, is the optimal time to do his signature pose. So, Jake switches the safety trigger. Cocks his gun. Gives it a little spin. Tests his facial muscles to prepare for his incoming, glorious wink, and brings the smoking muzzle close to his mouth.
Just as Jake’s blowing the smoke off his freshly used pistol, mid-customary wink, he notices Dirk staring at him.
“Why do you always wink after firing your gun?” Dirk asks as he collects the remaining grist.
“Because it looks cool! What more reason does a stand-up gent need for pizzazz?”
“Touché.”
Dirk shrugs with what Jake assumes to be his usual nonchalance. He can never really tell what that guy is thinking. Especially when he puts his hand around the barrel of Jake’s pistol.
“Um? Dirk?”
Jake remembers when Dirk sent his decapitated head through space and time. How the blood still ran warm between his fingers.
“Don’t worry. No decapitations going on here.”
Then, still holding the pistol, Dirk drops to his knees. Jake’s heart backflips into his stomach. For a flicker, he imagines something obscene, then imagines Brain Ghost Dirk tsking at him for his dirty mind.
“Dirk? What are you doing?”
He needs clarity. Just a little to shoo away what Dirk on his knees is doing for him.
Right as Dirk answers, Jake swears he sees a ghost of a smirk on Dirk’s face before it disappears.
“A little experiment. Care to partake?”
“Um, sure,” Jake says before he actually thinks about it. All of his dithering thoughts evaporate the moment Dirk puts his mouth around the barrel.
Dirk bobs his head up and down the pistol. Jake can see the translucent veil of saliva where his mouth’s just been, and fuck, he’s got an instant ticket to Bonertown, and it looks like the train isn’t departing any time soon.
Jake sees a peek of Dirk’s pink tongue against the cold metal. With all his might, he tries not to imagine that tongue wrapping around him. He fails. As if he could read Jake’s mind, Dirk’s eyes flicker to Jake’s through his blonde lashes. The sight is too much. Too vulnerable, too intense, and too Dirk, his best bro-turned-boyfriend he can’t stop thinking of as his bro.
Dirk pulls off the gun with a pop. The noise sends a terrible throb through Jake.
“It’s alright,” Dirk says with perfect poise, even though Jake feels far, far from alright. He wonders if it’d be possible to hide his boner from Dirk’s view, then realizes, oh Bejesus, it’d be impossible not to notice from where Dirk kneels before him.
Just as Jake thinks Dirk’s going to point out his painfully obvious erection, Dirk puts his mouth around the pistol again. Only this time, he takes the shaft of the gun deep into his mouth. Jake’s grip on the gun grows clammy; he can’t help the unsteady breath he releases. Dirk bobs his head, and Jake forces himself to keep his hips still.
The pistol reaches the back of Dirk’s throat. Jake hears Dirk let out the tiniest, softest gag. For anyone else, it’d be a non sequitur, as inconsequential and expected as breathing, but coming from Dirk, that small, sweet sound can move mountains, summon tsunamis.
Jake’s hips move before his mind can. Dirk watches. Rat-tat-tat, goes Jake’s heart.
Without a sound, Dirk stands. Jake waits for the worst to happen, for Dirk to turn around and leave, but then Dirk almost smiles.
“My bad,” Dirk says as brushes dirt off his knees. “Want me to take care of your lil' pal?”
“You really, uh,” Jake swallows. “Yeah, sure, if that’s alri—“
Jake yelps when Dirk puts his hands on his shoulders and pushes him against the rough tomb wall. Instinctively, his grip on the gun tightens. This close, it’s impossible not to feel Dirk’s boner pressed against his, and, fuck, the realization that Dirk’s as bothered as he is shoots through Jake hot as fire.
When Dirk reaches for his own zipper, Jake finally gets the hint. As Jake unzips his now tight-fitting pants, Dirk spits into his hand.
The sheer sensation of Dirk’s spit-slicked hand meeting Jake’s erection makes Jake roll his head back. Every time Dirk’s hand jerks him, their dicks rub together. Pain tingles everywhere the wall's jaggedness pokes into Jake’s back, and the whiplash between pleasure and pain mixes bewilderment with recklessness.
Most salient to Jake is Dirk himself. Close to Dirk like this, Jake feels Dirk’s breath puff against his face. Warm, palpable and fragile in a way Jake doesn't associate with Dirk. For so long, their relationship existed behind screens, and between them was an irreconcilable time gap. Now, Jake is sliding unsteady hands up Dirk’s tank top to grab his hips, feeling the warmth of his skin on his fingers, and Dirk is leaning against his touch, squeezing their dicks tighter, hastier. Touch is what Jake understands above all else, is the only language he could hone all those years he wrestled Brobot on a lonely Pacific island.
So Jake bites Dirk. Takes a patch of skin right beneath the scar around his neck, clamps it between his teeth, and feels Dirk’s pulse jolt beneath him. In an instant, Dirk is pulling away, and losing his touch feels like cold water. Jake’s terrified he went too far. Dirk darts his tongue over his lower lip, and Jake can’t help but stare at how it glistens.
“Wait,” Dirk says, slow and careful, as if he wasn’t just jerking Jake and himself off in the middle of a tomb thousands of feet underground. “Turn the safety trigger off.”
Utterly gobsmacking. This man’s mind stuns Jake to the point of speechlessness.
“Have you lost your freakin marbles!?”
“Ever heard of la petite mort? You know, post-nut clarity. A little part of you dies. This time, when I nut, I want to feel alive. I want every nerve in my body to choke with adrenaline. I want proof that I’m alive, that you’re here, and that this is happening. So, turn the safety lock off. Put the gun to my head.”
Jake draws in a shaky inhale. He can’t get his hand to stop shaking as he inches his finger towards the safety trigger. Dirk is watching, his gaze goosebump intense, but hidden behind those damn shades, and that’s when Jake knows they have to come off.
“Take off your doo-hickey spectacles then,” Jake says, the authoritative boom of his voice foreign to his ears.
A perverse shiver snakes up Jake’s spine when Dirk obeys without hesitation. The pistol in his hand feels heavier. When Jake finally switches off the safety trigger, he zeroes in on Dirk’s Adam’s apple bobbing, how it appears to contract as it travels down his neck scar.
“You can order me to do other things, you know,” Dirk says, and because Dirk isn’t wearing his shades anymore, it’s laughably easy for Jake to catch the bashfulness behind Dirk’s aloof bravado when his gaze flickers to the side.
“On your knees, then,” Jake says, and when Dirk complies, he tilts Dirk’s chin with a playful poke of his pistol to make Dirk look at him.
Dirk’s mouth is on him before Jake even tells him to suck. Jake feels the laugh deep in his belly.
“Didn’t say you could do that yet,” Jake says as he pushes Dirk’s wonderful, warm mouth off his freshly resurrected erection. Between his legs, Dirk’s unflagging boner salutes Jake.
Jake feels giddy with power.
“Now you can start sucking.”
Dirk takes Jake into his mouth slowly, with a fawn-fragile sort of caution. Jake feels Dirk’s plush tongue cushion his tip; Dirk exhales through his nose, raw and ready. Jake’s hand finds Dirk’s pomaded hair on instinct as Dirk tightens his lips around him. It would be so easy to wreck Dirk right here and right now, to make Dirk on his knees be his last moment alive, Jake thinks.
With a ginger touch, Dirk guides Jake’s wrist until the used, wet barrel rests on Dirk’s forehead. Jake’s blood rises so quickly he feels sick. Delirious, he thrusts with abandon into the wet heat of Dirk’s mouth. Dirk looks like a sickly angel, all sweaty and alert and flushed from having his face fucked; the low light of the tomb highlights the tired rings beneath his eyes, brings out the frantic flame underpinning his gaze.
For an incandescent second, Jake experiences a kindred understanding of Dirk’s insanity. Life and death; how narrow the tightrope of life is before the plunge to death; how profound it was that Dirk decapitated himself, then sent his head back four centuries to Jake; how Jake had to be the one to kiss him. Dirk had died to bring Jake here, and would die again to keep this soul-to-soul possible.
Jake blows his load. Strange tears spring to his eyes. For dear life, he grabs Dirk’s hair, as if that’d somehow hide it. Spit wets the wiry hairs around the base of Jake’s shaft as Dirk, still choking on Jake mid-throb, brings himself to completion. He pulls off of Jake with a loud gulp. Only a faint, opalescent dribble escapes. Nostalgia knocks around Jake’s noggin at the sight and bruises his sense of inhibition. He swipes the dribble away with his thumb and caresses Dirk’s dirt-smeared cheek.
Labored breathing sanctifies the space with affirmation. When Jake helps Dirk to his feet again, he finds his legs more shaky than Dirk’s. As he switches the safety trigger on his pistol again, he searches Dirk’s eyes for the same spirit that stripped him of all bone and flesh and worry. Dirk flips on his shades.
“Knew that would give you a boner,” Dirk says with the smallest of self-satisfied smirks.
“What!? How!?” Jake’s face grows hot.
“Dude, you carry around not one, but two phallic weapons that you closely interlink with your adventurer identity. I’d be surprised if that didn’t influence your tastes.”
Jake kicks a stray pebble and laughs. “Oh yeah, what about your samurai sword? Another instrument of destruction hearkening to phallic imagery. An outsider might think you’re almost trying to compensate for something.”
Dirk kicks the pebble back. “Yeah, compensate for something that we both know needs no compensation.”
As they venture further into the tomb, Jake touches the back of Dirk’s neck. He trails his finger against the softened ridge of scar tissue knotted there with reverent fright. As Jake settles his hand along the junction between Dirk’s neck and collarbone, he feels the thump of Dirk’s pulse. Rat-tat-tat.