Work Text:
His index finger slips into the narrow space with practiced ease while his other fingers curl instinctively, finding their place. He never tugs or pulls; a firm but gentle squeeze is all that’s needed. He’s done this a thousand times and yet each one feels like the first. There’s the briefest moment of anticipation and then the adrenalin rush as the resulting explosion bucks hot weight against the palm of his hand.
After the recoil, the air turns tangy, and there’s the sweet satisfaction of knowing the target’s been hit.
Nothing is quite like shooting a gun.
Well, almost nothing.