Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1301848.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      Gen
  Fandom:
      Bates_Motel_(2013)
  Character:
      Bradley_Martin, Dylan_Massett, Gil_Turner
  Additional Tags:
      Guns, Blow_Jobs, Non-Graphic_Violence, Minor_Character_Death, Murder,
      Suicide_Attempt
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-12 Words: 906
****** pull my trigger ******
by FreshBrains
Summary
     Bradley’s sucked cock before, but it never felt quite as good as
     putting a bullet through a man’s head.
Notes
     Takes place after 2x01. Contains sexual arousal due to guns and
     mentions of underage oral sex.
Bradley’s sucked cock before, but it never felt quite as good as putting a
bullet through a man’s head.
            She’s a 21st century girl—she knows it isn’t really supposed to
feel great for the girl, being on your knees and everything.  She’s read all
that Cosmobullshit about give and take, push and pull, making yourself feel
good by making your manfeel good.  It’s pure bullshit; she’s never believed it.
Richard was her first—he was all her firsts, none of them that great.  He
pulled her hair too hard, thrust too much, made it too messy.  The first time
she gagged and almost puked on him; later, they laughed about it.  He went down
on her and made her feel pretty good, but god, she hated giving him head.  She
hated it.
She would’ve sucked Norman off if he gave any indication of wanting it; it was
the first time Bradley ever felt in control of sex.  He was shy and unsure but
definitelyturned on.  He kissed her hard and sweet.  When she tried to slip
onto her knees on her bedroom carpet, Norman squeezed her bicep and kept her on
the bed.
“Maybe some other time, if you want,” he said, voice shaking a little with
nerves.  It made her feel warm all over, and that’s why she went back and
hugged him later after telling him she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. 
Norman was nice—at least, to her.  She could never really tell what was going
on behind his stormy eyes.
Dylan was another story—he was the sort of guy who was sweet and dominant at
the same time.  She pictured him as Adam in the Garden of Eden—rough, big,
masculine, and in total control of his own world, right up until his lady bit
the apple and everything turned upside down.  Dylan looked like he was handling
his shit but Bradley knew how stressed her old man was with his job, how severe
the consequences could be.  Dylan was too soft for it, too young.  He wouldn’t
last forever.
So Bradley got on her knees for him like she was praying, like she was asking
God to spare Norman’s cute older brother the same fate that fell on her daddy.
“Jesus Christ, your mouth,” he muttered, hands woven in her long hair as she
worked her mouth around his cock, pre-come staining her lips.  He was bigger
than anyone she had before and she took him deep, relishing in the burn at the
back of her throat.
She only did it for him once, like a special present.
*
She stayed standing for a long time at the hospital—standing or sleeping, in
motion or down for the count.  She was usually on something; always tired and
groggy, or else she was beating at the bars to get the hell out of dodge. 
Sometime she woke up in the middle of the night and felt cold water rushing
into her lungs, saw trash and weeds floating around her limp body, and she
wanted to pray like when she was little and still believed, but instead she
grabbed her blanket and curled up under her bed like it was a warm cave.
*
            The gun, the gun.  She got wet for the gun.  It was the hottest,
most intense thrill she’d ever experienced, holding that piece of metal in her
hands, black and silver, the trigger like the hard nub of her clit.  She was
around guns all her life but knew little about them; she never really cared
before—trigger, bullets, barrel, safety.  Chamber, was that a thing?  Was it in
all guns?  Hammer, magazine?  She didn’t know.
            She traced the smooth lines of the weapon, feeling the cold
silkiness of the metal, circling the ring of silver at the muzzle like it was
the head of a man’s cock, like she was bringing it to completion.  But she
needed more, so she placed the muzzle in her mouth, felt it cold and unyielding
against her lips, and realized it was the only pleasure she would ever need
again. 
            Even if her mother hadn’t come in, she wouldn’t have pulled the
trigger.
*
            The gun was a powerful weight against the small of her back; it
felt protective, like a strong callous-handed man was behind her with his
erection pressed against her flesh, keeping her safe and warm in his arms.  It
made her feel sexy, powerful, unlike the little girl in a blue hoodie trouncing
up to Gil Turner like she knew what to do with him.
            She heard the sharp intake of his breath as she lowered herself
onto the floor, the rough pile of the carpet scratching her bare knees.  She
was cold; goose-bumps littered her arms and legs.  He was a man, not a boy, and
he waited with his hands at his sides like a gentleman, not touching her neck
or hair, and she felt an odd tug of tenderness as she slipped her hand into the
waist of her skirt and retrieved her gun.
            The look on his face sent a flash of heat through her body, a zing
of frightened arousal that send her clit throbbing in her lace underwear.  He
still had an erection, and she licked her lips quickly, just once, and pulled
the trigger.
            It was like a bright red orgasm—hot, quick, dangerous, and
endlessly satisfying.
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