Fandom: Overwatch
Pairing: Implied Reapyatta, implied Genyatta
Warnings: dub/noncon mentions (non-graphic), power imbalanceSummary: Gabe wonders what the young Shimada lord has planned for the visiting performer.
Notes: requested by @cyberrat ❤
Gabe wonders if the dancer knows he will not be leaving tonight, consumed as he is by the task at hand.
His hazel eyes draw thin, and the gold paint beneath each catches in the low light as he weaves his body to the chiming of the orbs encircling his body. There is something otherworldly in the way he moves, like magic, but Gabe doesn’t believe in magic. Yet, if he stares at the outline of the monk’s body hard enough, he almost sees something: an afterimage, a trick of the eye like an illusion on the horizon.
He flows to the swelling accompaniment of the other monks, drums and shamisen joining the chimes, and his motions intensify like a fight, a koan incarnate, skirts and belts rippling as his spins and arches, steps so slight and practiced he floats.
Lord Shimada watches with polite interest, but the young master slouches forward, chin cupped in his palm, calloused thumb pressing his lower lip. His pupils shine, large and dark, and a telltale flush dusts his high cheekbones. Gabe has seen that look before.
He doesn’t blame the young master, but he does feel sorry for the monk. Untouched, he guesses, raised in the mountains five thousand kilometers away, though the monk looks his mid-twenties. A sweet, uninitiated bauble to amuse for an evening; the young master grew bored with his conquests quite easily.
Gabe straightens in his black suit, clenching his hands in front of him. When the finale comes, will the young master cheer uproariously, showering the warm-skinned dancer in praise? Will he woo him with promises of wealth and power and pleasure? He imagines some monks are immune to such flattery, but no one is infallible, and new, unknown attentions might sway him. Gabe hopes, for his sake, it does.
The young master does not take rejection lightly.
The monk may refuse. Gabe may be ordered forward to retrieve him for whatever the young master desired. It would not be the first time. He would use his guns for this one, the orbs’ rotations beautiful but dangerous, whistling through the air like bullets.
He would restrain the monk, careful, so careful to leave him unharmed. The young master cut off the last guard’s arm when he was sloppy. Gabe hopes he would come easily, after, allow his robes to be slipped his body. He would lay back for Gabe on the silken sheets of the bed, spread his long, supple thighs, let Gabe tease his fingers inside him until he is wet and soft and mewling.
Gabe bites his lip. The monk could be hard, cock straining, dripping pearls against his lean, trembling stomach, or flaccid, ignorant of his own body, or perhaps too frightened. It would not make any difference to the young master; what he lacked in restraint he made up in skill. He would bring the monk to heaven sooner or later.
Gabe shifts as the music ebbs, dick pulsing, trapped down the leg of his suit. He can’t help but let his thoughts linger as the monk arcs in a sinuous line; Gabe’s hands would overshadow his waist if he held his hips. He rolls his lower lip into his mouth and bites, shakes his head.
The young master would never grant such a request, not when his own interest shown so plainly on his face, in his posture, in the thickening curve between his legs. Gabe hopes as the monk sinks into a low bow, music fading, that the young master will let him watch.
it’s so good???? thank you so much??? fuck…. fuuuuck…. exotic dancer Zen… fuck yes… yes yes yes yes yes a thousand times
Cyberrat Writes 