"So what is it?" Carter looks down at the gun on the table between them.
Ketch smiles, self-satisfied, and leans back in his chair. "Back in 1835, Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun that could kill anything in creation."
"Anything?"
She looks sceptical, and he waves a dismissive hand. "Almost anything, bar five beings in particular. A formidable weapon nonetheless."
"Hmm." Her eyes flit down to the revolver. "Well, that ain't almost 200 years old."
"No. Though the original was in our possession for a time. We've been attempting to replicate the technology."
"So, does it work?" She reaches out to pick up the weapon, handling it almost casually as she tests the weight, rolls the cylinder. "Could it kill all bar five things in creation?"
Ketch's expression turns more disgruntled as she points it at him, unloaded though it is. "It's just a prototype, as are the rounds. It hasn't been tested in the field."
"Huh." Carter picks up one of the rounds in question from the table, examines it briefly, then pushes it into a chamber. "Could it kill me?" She gives the cylinder a spin.
Ketch has suddenly tensed, eyes trained on the gun. "Carter…"
"No, come on. Let's play." She reaches for his hand atop the table still lingering by his whiskey glass, forces the gun into his fingers. Then she raises his hand to point the barrel at her head. "I am half Russian after all."
She has his finger on the trigger. He doesn't move. "I wouldn't advise this."
"Oh, come on. Nuclear blast couldn't kill me, I think I'll take my chances with a bullet." She leans in closer, mouth practically on the barrel, smirking. "I bet secretly this turns you on." Her tongue darts out, flicks over the tip of the gun, then licks slowly along its length. Despite himself, he squirms, watching as she wraps her mouth around the barrel and swallows it to the back of her throat. She's mocking him, a taunting look in her eyes, and fuck it's hotter than it has any right to be.
He stares her down. Arthur Ketch is not one to back down from a challenge.
Several heartbeats pass, Ketch's mind racing through every possible outcome of the next few seconds, then almost without realising it he squeezes the trigger.
For a moment he doesn't even register it's clicked on empty.
Carter smirks, chuckling softly as she pulls the gun out of her mouth then takes it firmly off him. "My turn."
Her hand is suddenly on his throat, pulling him closer to her over the table, and he hates himself for being so slow. Maybe it's the whiskey, or perhaps it's something else, but it's like something has wormed its way into his brain and dulled his reaction times. He can't focus on anything but her.
The barrel of the gun is at his chest, the tip pressing in directly over his heart. He knows she can feel it pounding along the length of the metal.
Carter grins, pushes in a little deeper. "Dare me?"
It's not like she's allowing him enough air to say yes, but he meets her gaze, clenches his jaw a little tighter. He's taking the dare.
She squeezes the trigger.
There's a terrifying moment as his heart skips a beat, time drawing out for the split second between the hammer coming down and the chamber's contents emptying, then Ketch realises he's still alive.
He laughs, halfway giddy, then slumps back in his chair as she lets go.
Carter does the same, looking smug. She seems way too relaxed. Then it clicks.
"You never loaded the cylinder, did you?" he remarks. "Just some sleight of hand."
Her expression turns disgruntled, a sardonic eyebrow raised, and for a moment he thinks he has her. Then she lifts the gun, jerks it towards the kettle atop the kitchen counter and pulls the trigger.
The gun goes off with a deafening crack, and Ketch flinches as the kettle explodes in a shower of sparks. It's smoking as it clatters to the floor, leaving behind scorch marks on the counter top and a ragged bullet hole in the wall.
He stares, for a moment frozen in genuine shock.
Carter gives another chuckle. "You're awfully sure of yourself, Ketch. You might wanna be careful with that."