“You’re a slutty drunk,” Jesse whispers. It sounds reverent; like he’s just thanking the gods while he stares down at Hanzo crumpled on the bed, trying to touch his sore looking nipples and getting needy and frustrated when it hurts more than he usually enjoys.
“You’re a fuckin’ slutty drunk who gets his tits pierced when he ain’t supervised.” He’s babbling and McCree knows it, but he’s never been good at any brain-to-mouth filter, especially when he’s helplessly horny like now; watching Hanzo groan in drunken frustration, hand gingerly cupped beneath his pec.
He’s red-faced and bleary-eyed and stinks of a mixture of sake and beer… and it’s right up Jesse’s alley.
He has no idea when Hanzo even managed to stumble away from their little camp on the back of the base, leaving McCree, Torbjörn and Tracer to drink on their own, and he has no idea how Hanzo managed to get his nipples pierced – but he ain’t complaining. Oh he ain’t complain’, pardner.
“McCree!” Hanzo hisses. He arches his back and struggles out of the sleeve of his yukata that’s been hanging off of his arm improperly for a while now. If he’d intended to say more – probably some ill-tempered order – he never did so. Rather, he became distracted by his own chest again; staring down at his pecs and squinting at the puffy, raised flesh of his nipples.
“Pretty, ain’t it?” Jesse drawls, crawling onto the bed. He grips Hanzo’s wrist before he can touch his chest again and presses the hand down onto the bed with a firm, warning squeeze. Hanzo tries to sneer at him, but it ends up being a cross-eyed look of helplessness instead as he arched and curled his hips up, mashing his hard cock against McCree’s crotch.
“Subtle,” Jesse murmurs, eyes travelling down the flush on Hanzo’s throat towards his pecs. His nipples, usually tan, were an angry red from Hanzo’s inebriated poking, the endings of the bar piercings glinting invitingly next to the pouty nub.
Jesse tried imagining them clamped in the cold metal of the piercer’s special tongue, but his brain fried at the picture it came up with. Had Hanzo been groaning when it happened? Had he gotten hard on the chair, because he got off on his own lewdness?
“You’re killin’ me,” Jesse murmurs and dips down to dance the tip of his tongue along the swollen, puffy areola, just because it was begging for it. Hanzo hisses and jerks, one arm coming up with his hand balled into a fist as if to strike Jesse on the side of the head – but ends up just gripping his shaggy hair and pulling on it to press him closer.
When Jesse carefully presses his teeth against the very edge of the abused skin, he spits out a curse in Japanese and bucks up to him once more; drunkenly fucking his clothed cock against McCree’s belt buckle. Ouch.
Tears spring to Jesse’s eyes when Hanzo uses his unfriendly grip on his hair do drag him away and over, insisting with an in-eloquent grunt he pay attention to the other tit.
“Fuckin’ slutty when you’re drunk,” McCree whispers again, tonguing at the piercing and bringing his hand up to carefully tug on the other little metal ball because he can’t leave well enough alone. Hanzo chokes on a near-howl and almost bucks Jesse off; the muscular, compact body writhing like a goddamn snake as he tries to get away and get closer simultaneously.
The pain didn’t seem to be enough to make him not want his tits to get fondled and sucked, Jesse was giddy to notice.
He closed his lips around the abused, reddened area, starting a low, careful suck, and rolled the metal ball of the other piercing through his fingertips. It felt feverishly hot in his mouth. He wondered what Miss Ziegler would do when Hanzo arrived at her med-bay tomorrow; hung-over and ill-tempered, tits a red, swollen spectacle for everybody to see.
Or would Hanzo not go at all? Would he want to drag the healing process out, if he enjoyed it just as much as he seemed to right now; muttering filth in Japanese and fucking rude and selfishly up at McCree as he let himself get serviced by him?
Jesse couldn’t begin to fathom a guess.
He let the nipple pop out of his mouth with a loud, wet pop and observed it; dark red, obscene and puffy, with the metal of the bar piercing glinting cool and alluring against his skin.
“Damn, pardner,” he sighs, and dips his head, mouthing eager like a babe for the other one to suck it into his greedy mouth.
Cyberrat Writes 