McCree shouldn’t be as excited to have Reaper’s ass planted on his face; he knows as much, but he can’t make himself not puppy eager, his cock already fat and eager in his jeans, the head pushing up painfully behind the heavy belt buckle after he reached down to adjust it.

It’s humid and warm – no, sweltering – between Reaper’s cheeks. He feels like a fever, the nanomachines constantly working and building up an inhuman heat.

Jesse wants to say something about it; make a low, drawling quip about how he hadn’t expected to fly into the tropics today – but Reaper grinds down right then, as if sensing his stupid goddamn joke, heavy balls grinding across first the bridge of Jesse’s nose, then his forehead; settling there warm and oppressive-

but not as oppressive as Reaper himself, his thick thighs tightening around Jesse’s head as he shimmies his hips and settles down like a goddamn mother hen.

Jesse wants to say something – he thought it was funny – but it is hard to keep a clear head when he is suffocating in Reaper’s huge ass. Everything is dark and hot and the tip of Jesse’s nose is nudging against his hole until he can manage to angle his head up and let Reaper properly sit on his jaw.

“Finally,” the dark voice sighs above him. He feels Reaper’s talons scrape at his head – almost lovingly.

Jesse’s head is spinning; his heart is hammering. He doesn’t know if Reaper would hear it if he asked him to sit up and let him get gulps of fresh air. (He doesn’t know if he would care). The thought is as scary as it is arousing.

His cock is trying to strangle itself with his own goddamn belt.

“Begin,” Reaper hisses and his thighs tighten – and Jesse feels like his head had to pop like a grape. His chest is spasming, his bladder feeling sensitive and full; like he needs to piss himself; his body so confused on whether he is going to live or die.

Reaper grunts and sits up; lets him have at least one short, desperate gulp of air before he sits back down.

“Begin!”

Jesse does. He is as diligent as he’s been way back when Reaper had not been Reaper; tongue out and liberally wet, dragging across the wrinkled skin of his anus all the while his hands were occupied with groping; squeezing at the rock hard muscles of his large, shapely thighs.

Reaper is breathing deeply above him and moves minutely; drags his hole against Jesse’s tongue and his balls across his forehead.

He is getting more excited; grinds down harder until Jesse’s head is pounding, his heels kicking at the ground, spurs jingling loud and obnoxiously. He is suffocating between Reaper’s thighs and his cock is feeling like a wound, swollen and pulsing and hot.

He can feel it on his tongue when Reaper comes; the tight ring of muscles contracting and releasing against the inquisitive tip of his tongue, his thighs tensing and squeezing his head until the joints of his jaw are pounding and he is so sure something has dislocated itself…

Reaper lifts slowly, like an afterthought, and Jesse drags in air with a huge, awful gulp, cock pulsing out cum the second the oxygen hits his bloodstream; the sensation orgasmic in itself, his beard wet with saliva and Reaper’s sweat.

He’s a mess, but when he turns his pounding head – feeling like he is running a fever – Reaper is nowhere to be seen.