{fic rec} could we get some genyatta? maybe genji fucking zen wet and sloppy then cleaning him up and putting him to bed with him?


Genji withdraws with a soft groan, and he can’t help but thrust shallowly twice more before his synthetic cock slips free with a thick, wet sound. The sight of Zenyatta flexing and twisting with even the gentlest roll of his hips forever intoxicates him. Zenyatta moans weakly, faceplate pressed into the pillow, hands bound with silk to the headboard, loose and easy. He could tear the fabric if he wanted, but he doesn’t dream of doing so.

“You’re so beautiful, Zenyatta.” Genji breathes, filled with awe, like he’s seeing Zenyatta spread and leaking for the first time. His master chirps quietly, thighs twitching, valve contracting weakly around nothing, still recalibrating, process slow from the long, thorough treatment he had received.

Genji hums, dark eyes thinned and warm, and traces a finger into the slick mess beneath his master, smearing the mix of white and teal and watching it gleam on his hand. Then he cups Zenyatta’s inner thigh, the omnic sighing but not much else, and Genji dips his head.

Itadakimasu.” Genji murmurs, and Zenyatta would give him a playful smack if his arms weren’t bound. Instead he gasps as Genji’s searing tongue descends on his valve, already swollen and pulsing from use.

Genji.” Zenyatta cries, synth hoarse and cracking, hands twisting in the silk. He knows with four percent more force the fabric will tear beneath his servos, so he restrains himself as best he can, though it’s nearly impossible with the way his lover flicks his tongue so perfectly across his glowing, swollen node.

Genji pins Zenyatta’s thighs against the sheets as he suckles his clit, chuckling as Zenyatta twists so very weakly beneath his tongue, too tired to fight, not wanting to struggle, but everything is oversensitive and tight.

“Tired so soon, master? Perhaps you need more training.” Genji whispers between licks, suckling the teal nub before Zenyatta can protest.

“Hnn—cheeky.” Is all he can manage as he feels the telltale signs of his insides drawing tight, low lubricant warnings flickering within his processes. “You have ah-already drained me of my reserves.”

“I would have it all.” Genji says, voice sinking sinfully deep as he grows serious, sucking hard and flicking his tongue against him, kissing between his dripping folds when his master draws close, teasing him.

Zenyatta’s cock jerks, heavy and lazy against his chassis, endlessly interested in Genji’s attentions, leaking even as Genji focuses beneath it where his gleaming, spit-slickened nub resides. The monk chirrups, jerks, twitching against the flickering, capricious tongue, fluttery and weak, so weak.

How he wants to tear the silk, fist his fingers in his lover’s beautiful green hair, grind into that hot, giving mouth until he overloads for the fourth time, and Genji would praise him for it, lap up the rest of his lube reserves with pleasure.

Trapped beneath his lover for hours, low, so low on energy, he can do no such thing, not without falling into sleep mode, though he thinks that is Genji’s plan with how amorously he flicks his tongue, hot swipes sparking along frayed, overburdened sensors.

Slowly, the pleasure builds, crests, Genji’s mouth rhythmic, almost cradling Zenyatta’s lower half, and reality blurs, narrowing to the clench of his fingers, his thighs, his valve spilling over his lover’s synthetic lower lip. He can see Genji like he can feel the warmth of the Iris, without his array, his mouth, coated in teal, sucking, working at him, never tiring, always wanting, and Zenyatta gives and gives and gives, could never deny his student. His love. His sparrow centered in the endless expanse of sky that is his whole world.

Distantly, he feels his orgasm bloom, his whole frame quaking with the intensity of it. His systems crash as Genji whispers endearments against his silicone and chrome, hands stroking, endlessly touching. Zenyatta feels consciousness slip away, warm, loved, so safe in Genji’s embrace.

He delivers his revenge when he wakes to Genji rutting lazily against his thigh, whimpering as Zenyatta’s hand, free against the sheets, wraps teasingly along his cock.

“I believe it is my turn.”

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