@cyberrat got me with human!winstonxhuman!zenyatta visuals here & here
Winston is just about to step into his shower when the epiphany comes to him; the solution about how to improve the launchers on his armor that liked to sputter to a halt every now and then.
He immediately turns away from the stall, haphazardly grabbing his glasses on his way out, mind already running through the calculations.
It should be working if he hadn’t made a mistake…. there definitely was a possibility that…
“Oh, Winston, I-”
He cries out in surprise, flinching back against the doorframe of his bathroom. He fumbles with his glasses, trying to put them back onto his nose, though the motion is just ingrained at this point – he already knows who has wandered into his room; Zenyatta’s voice was easy to recognize.
“Z-Zenyatta,” he stutters, glasses a little crooked on his nose as he missed one ear, staring at the monk who is looking him up and down in interest, an enigmatic smile on his face. “What are you doing in here?”
A gentle breeze slipping through between his thighs and tickling the heavy sway of his cock and balls, brings an immediate, embarrassed heat into his cheeks. Quickly he pulls back, big hands coming forward to shield himself before the monk’s dark, docile eyes that look at him so very unabashedly.
“I merely wanted to give you a little present for your help with my orbs the other day, but…”
Winston can now see the large jar of peanut butter in Zenyatta’s slim hands, face contorting at the unfortunate wording of the thin monk. He shuffles backwards, trying to find the door to his bathroom again which should be right behind him, but for some reason his ass is only hitting the cold wall.
“…I think I can do a little better than that,” Zenyatta concludes with a sunny smile, sitting the sticky treat down on Winston’s table, strewn with folders and old fashioned books.
Helplessly, Winston watches him, heart thundering in his chest as Zenyatta comes closer with a spring in his step and an expression that looks so thoroughly satisfied with life that Winston wonders whether he actually slipped in his bathroom and slammed his head on the ground. Maybe he had a severe concussion and this was some kind of grotesque feverdream induced by… by…
Zenyatta is so close now, patting Winston’s cheek and scratching through his beard before reaching up and plucking the crooked glasses from his nose.
“I, uh-uh… I uhm…” Winston can’t make his mouth work, staring in helpless mortification as Zenyatta lowers himself into a crouch right before him, that lovely brown face with round cheekbones and curvy lips immediately hidden behind the hard, generous swell of Winston’s gut.
“A-Agent,” he stutters out, voice a low, embarrassed rumble as he feels one long-fingered hand lift his junk and hold it in a warm cradle atop his palm.
“You smell so good,” he can just about hear Zenyatta murmur, his breath tickling the generous bush of hair beneath his belly. The knowledge of how close the monk is – close enough that Winston can feel it on the ruddy skin of his dick – is making his mouth run dry.
“I haven’t- I haven’t showered yet,” he whispers faintly. Zenyatta’s other arm has come up and his hand is petting across the hairy swell of his stomach, pressing in with the heel of his hand as if to feel how firm it is; thick muscles beneath the skin. It’s… it feels reverent, and Winston flushes up to his hairline, one paw-like hand grabbing downwards blindly and holding helplessly onto the thin forearm.
“P-Please…”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” Zenyatta answers with a supreme sense of serenity. His head nestles closer beneath the swell of Winston’s stomach, and his knees become weak as he feels the monk’s nose and mouth against the silky skin of his cock, inhaling deeply. “Had I only known…”
Zenyatta interrupts himself, and Winston’s highly intelligent mind stalls like one of his launchers, wondering what that would have changed… what that knowledge would have given Zenyatta-
He can’t remember the last time he had gotten a blowjob. He can’t even remember the last time he had felt the need to try and awkwardly woo someone to coax them into his bed. Winston does not need it much, is most of the time very content with his hands – but the feeling of Zenyatta’s wet little mouth first lapping, then suckling on the head of his dick is… it is…
“‘S good,” Winston whispers shyly, eyes closed, panting softly as he listens to the obscene suckling sounds as Zenyatta lets him slip deeper, unselfconsciously pressing his face into the fold between his crotch and his belly, trying to get as close as possible as Winston’s cock grows; swelling to life insistently inside the tight little cave.
He whimpers, thumb rubbing mindlessly across the thin wrist of the arm he is still holding onto. His belly is filled with liquid heat, breath stuttering as he can feel himself pop past the restraint of the monk’s throat, heart trying to burst out of his chest as he realizes how easily Zenyatta is taking him despite a bit of wet, delicious gagging.
He’s taking his girthy dick like a well-seasoned whore, and the knowledge makes him slap his free hand over his face, whimpering behind his broad palm as he comes embarrassingly fast, the orgasm taking him by surprise.
He can hear Zenyatta choke as thick strings of cum suddenly splash against the back of his throat, and tries to apologize with humiliation heating his whole body up. All he manages are meaningless stutters while his still jerking cock abruptly slips out of the coughing monk’s lovely little mouth.
“Don’t- ah. Don’t worry yourself,” Zenyatta assures, deep voice suddenly no longer smooth but rough, and Winston feels with mortification how his cock is flexing at the sound – at the knowledge that… that he did that to a… a… a monk…
It is not going soft yet; the fat length of it snuggled against the lower curve of his belly and smearing the fur there with spit and cum. When he looks down at the lovely face peering up at him, Zenyatta’s round cheekbones dark with a flush and strings of Winston’s cum on the serenely smiling face, the scientist wants to sink into the ground in shame.
“This is quite alright,” Zenyatta assures him, his dark eyes trailing down, staring at the fat, ruddy tip pointing directly at him with a kind of single-minded intent that Winston had only ever witnessed in cats about to pounce. “Please, I just…”
And he reaches out again, those thin, long fingers curling lovingly around the dark shaft, and Winston chokes on nothing at all.
Cyberrat Writes 