robotfvckers:

Zenyatta whispers, and the incantation filters through Genji’s mind like music through water, distant and otherworldly. His master’s forehead glows, each pinpoint of light soft and dazzling, matching the ethereal shine of his eyes. He breathes out, and the words cease. Then there is nothing.

Zenyatta opens his eyes. Genji stares back at him, wide and unseeing. Then, a shift: his student sighs, eyelids drooping, pupils dilating, ringed with gold. He grins.

“Hey, there. I haven’t seen you around here before.” Genji murmurs, eyes tracing over his master, flickering to his orange garb, hesitating for an instant on Zenyatta’s bare chest.

“Genji?” Zenyatta murmurs. The hairs on his neck prickle. This is not the first time someone has stared at him with such open interest. That the attention comes from Genji is.

“Oh, my reputation precedes me. All good things, I hope.” Genji purrs, leaning forward, hand settling high on Zenyatta’s thigh. “That’s what I’m known for. Being good.”

Over the years, Genji had divulged his past to Zenyatta, things he wasn’t proud to admit. Gambling. Drinking. Sleeping with anyone that caught his eye, especially if it displeased the clan. Zenyatta thought this exercise would help Genji come to terms with his past. To think this is who his student was, who he might’ve met, in another life. His chest tightens.

“What’s your name?” Pressure on his face refocuses him on the now. Genji slides the pad of his thumb along his lower lip, cupping his chin so gently, like Zenyatta is fragile, like he doesn’t want to startle him.

Zenyatta exhales, soft and low, face heating, eyes downcast. He tells him in a hushed whisper.

“Zenyatta.” Genji repeats, inches from his master’s face. Monk. Tekhartha. Master. Genji has never called him his given name. “So pretty. It suits you.”

–

Zenyatta cries into the sheets of his bed, the smell of incense and sex filling his nose. Genji twists his fingers inside him, teasing around something that makes Zenyatta’s body tremble and his insides quake with pleasure.

“Right there? So sensitive.” Genji moans into his ear, pressing his dripping cock harder against the soft muscles of Zenyatta’s thigh, rutting while he fucks his master with his fingers. Zenyatta’s own cock hangs heavy and fat between his legs, precum dripping into the sheets.

“This can’t be your first time. Holed up in a monastery with a bunch of men? I bet you are quite popular.”

Zenyatta moans, broken and wanting like he’s never known, hips pressing back for more, but Genji continues to graze that spot inside him that keeps him weak and helpless. Open in a way he has never been with his student, like he’s always wished to be. Wonders if his Genji wants this too, but it’s so hard to think, so hard to feel anything but those fingers teasing him until his toes curl and his thighs flex and he’s, he’s –

Crying out, when Genji withdraws his fingers, circling his swollen hole before shifting behind him, the warm press of something more substantial nudging against his body. Genji shushes him, each word lancing new sick pangs of want through his bones.

“Easy now.” Genji whispers, one hand grasping Zenyatta’s hip, steadying him. “Let’s see how many times you can come for me, Zenyatta.”