“Shhh, shh, shh,” McCree shushed, metal hand clamping over Hanzo’s mouth, and hips hunching further inward – pushing his cock deeper into the wet, delirious clutch of Hanzo’s body.

He could blearily see Hanzo’s eyes widen – staring at him wide and wet; seemingly so dumbfounded at how deep McCree could reach. How wide he’d fucked him open on his cock, and dragged all those catty, needy noises out of him.

“Ya need to be nice and quiet, dahlin’,” he whispered. He sounded drunk – felt drunk – even though he’s only had one beer. Hanzo was getting to his head.

He was moving constantly; muscles rippling and working around his cock. Suckling on his dick like he still hadn’t got used to the meaty girth. “God damn,” he whispered and jerked against Hanzo without having pulled out before hand. The reaction was as instantaneous as it was beautiful – Hanzo’s eyes fluttered shut with the jolt of his body, and he shouted against McCree’s prosthetic palm. His sensors picked the vibrations up and made them tickle through his arm up towards his shoulder.

McCree grit his teeth, mashing his hand more firmly around Hanzo’s jaw, keeping him nice and quiet as he began moving again. There was nothing fluid about his fucking – his hips were jerking in hunching, little motions that kept him from actually moving too far out. 

He was fucking Hanzo on just a couple centimeters of his dick, mostly simply keeping him full, and Hanzo went wild for it. He was flushed and sweaty, the bruises McCree had sucked into his chest standing out in livid colors.

His body was still working around him. Rippling and suckling and making a spectacle out of the whole mess by giving off little, wet smacking sounds whenever McCree pulled out far enough to actually ram back inside.

“Quiet, quiet, quiet,” he was groaning out low, right into Hanzo’s face. He was just babbling for the sake of it, not registering what exactly it was that he was saying. McCree was thinking with his dick; thinking about how he was going to fill Hanzo up, and how sore his swollen balls would feel afterwards. Hanzo couldn’t make a sound except for a low, desperate keening deep in his throat.

McCree would never have imagined how desperate Hanzo would be for cock. How that pink, little hole would become pouty and hungry to get filled, opening up like a dream for a big dick that knew what it wanted.

“Fucking slut. So good. So gorgeous. Yeah, take it. Take my dick, an’ keep quiet like a good boy. Like a fuckin’ good boy, dahlin’.”

Sweat was tickling down his spine and gathering in the small of his back. He was fucking like an animal, hips hunching into his desperate, abrupt thrusts, deep dicking Hanzo – trying to practically crawl after his cock into that slick, clutching space that felt like wet silk clinging to him.

Hanzo’s face was red. He probably couldn’t breathe too well. His dark, liquid eyes started to cross from the overload of sensations, and McCree dumbly wondered whether he’d found Hanzo’s prostate and had been pummeling against the puffy gland the whole time.

Hanzo’s fingers were on his back. It felt like he was trying to rip it open while he bucked up towards him; towards the meaty cock driving into him.

“Stay silent, nice and silent, that’s right that’s the ticket, good boy good boy,” McCree babbled, pressing their foreheads together and listening to the desperate huffing coming from Hanzo’s nose.

“Fuckin’ good little slut.”